


Eau-de-vie

by AegwynnMagna



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, NaNoWriMo, anal penetration, angsty, blowjob, explicit - Freeform, handjob, inappropriate use of magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-21 11:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AegwynnMagna/pseuds/AegwynnMagna
Summary: It starts with fetching things.Soft sub/dom relationship.





	1. Eau-de-vie

**Author's Note:**

> This story is all Eriakit’s fault. She knows what she’s done. Though part of the credit must go to Valisandre, because she managed in just 1 simple sentence, to plant Eria’s idea so deep in my brain that I just had to sit down and write it immediately so it might be shared. So, thank you both for being such wonderful enablers and such encouraging supporters of my writing. Hope you enjoy.

**Eau-de-vie**, noun, French for _spirits_: alcohol; during the Middle Ages, thought to hold medicinal values; see also: elixir of life; panacea.

Afterwards, when they will try to pinpoint exactly how and when and where it starts, they will both swear that they don’t remember, and they will both be lying. They will share a smile and know that the other is thinking the same thing as they are. But there is one thing for sure: when it starts, none of them realizes until it is well underway.

It is late one evening when Khadgar reaches and lays a hand on Lothar's nape.

"Pass me that book," he says distractedly.

He has been held up in the library since the morning. Lothar - the _Commander_ he corrects, even if he most often calls him Lothar now, even while speaking to him - has taken to stopping whenever he can or wants to, chat for a moment with the mage, sit in silence for longer, and then go on with his day.

At first, it made Khadgar uneasy. He felt awkward, having to navigate the familiar spaces of Stormwind's Keep library while constantly keeping an eye on the Commander. It took him a while, but eventually Lothar became as fixed a detail as the bookshelves and that one stone that's slightly loose and which you need to step lightly on.

It's comfortable, now, to sit and say nothing. Khadgar had wanted to coax Lothar into saying what he sought here, but he quickly realized that what he wanted - _needed_ even - was some peace, and some quiet, a space in which no one asked anything of him, and he could just stare at nothing without anyone asking him how he was feeling, or what his thoughts were on the most recent Orc encounter dangerously close to Elwynn's borders.

At some point, Khadgar started including Lothar into his studies: he'd be reading a book, and a thought would strike, and he'd speak it aloud rather than jotting it down quickly on his parchment. Lothar never commented - how could he, when Khadgar spoke of leylines, and arcane, and mana, and _fel_ \- but he listened. Khadgar knew that he listened.

This evening, though, things are different. It's not an earth shattering realization - barely even a realization, actually. Khadgar simply lays his hand gently on Lothar's nape, barely touching, and asks, softly, if he could pass him a book that's sitting just a few feet away on the large table.

It's logical: Lothar is closer, and Khadgar can't reach it without stretching uncomfortably across the table, risking knocking over his inkwell (it's happened before). It's practical. If Lothar had simply handed him the book, without looking at him, without saying a word, then Khadgar probably wouldn't have even realized what he had done.

But Lothar doesn't. Khadgar's hand brushes his neck, and his voice fills the quiet between them, and Lothar goes still. 

Lothar doesn't fidget: he barely moves at all as he sits next to Khadgar and breathes deeply, in and out, as if in sleep. His shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and his chest expands, and he sometimes licks his lips or clears his throat. He's a constant, living, tranquil presence next to Khadgar, who fidgets and taps his foot and his fingers and murmurs and groans and rocks backwards. Khadgar has tried to contain himself, when Lothar had first started spending time with him, until he couldn't anymore and figured that if it bothered the Commander, then he would leave. Lothar left but he came back.

So: Khadgar touches Lothar's neck and Lothar goes perfectly still. There are a couple of seconds where nothing happens, a moment where nothing moves. And then Lothar shivers.

From the moment Lothar felt Khadgar's fingers near his skin, he could feel it coming and knew that he would not be able to suppress it so he doesn't even try. From this moment forward, it's all just a question of when, and how strong, and will Khadgar notice.

Khadgar notices, enough that he raises his head from his book long enough to catch the slight blush tinting Lothar's cheek under his beard.

The shiver takes a few seconds, but once it starts, it doesn't seem to want to stop. It travels all throughout Lothar's body in powerful waves, shaking him to his core, making his teeth clatter. He's embarrassed by the strength of it and he blushes even more as the shiver stutters and eventually stops, leaving him gaping.

All throughout it, Khadgar watches, his hand still hovering over his neck, and it's obvious that he felt every tremor of it. He doesn't know what to make of it and by the time he decides to just _ask_ he sees a flicker of surprise on Lothar's otherwise emotionless face and then Lothar is moving again.

Lothar picks up the book and hands it to Khadgar, who is forced, as his right hand is currently holding his pen tightly, tighter than he realized, to move his hand from Lothar's nape to grab the book which started it all.

Khadgar's all but forgotten what he needed it for. He's still looking at Lothar, who's very pointedly not looking at him, but this isn't necessarily because of what has just happened, because Lothar never looks at him.

It's something Khadgar has noticed before and he has done his damnedest not to be offended by it. In fact, he isn't offended but he sometimes can't deny that it hurts. Lothar may have become the closest thing to a friend that he's made in his time in stormwind. He doesn't have time for socialising. There is a war to be won, magic to study, orcs to fight, and a world to save. There are people to avenge. 

Khadgar is fine with loneliness, but he can't help but recall Medivh's last words as he laid, crushed, under the boulder in Karazhan's pond. He's not afraid - not yet, at least - of the effects that loneliness might have on him. He has too much to do to bother with such a thought.

But, and he sincerely wonders how he hasn't realized that before, he has come to value Lothar's presence as his side as essential. It is a part of his studying and focusing process, the missing piece that he was so desperate to find as he fled the backwards and restrictive rules of the Violet Hold. As he is suddenly faced with the possibility that what has just happened - and what has happened? - could mean that Lothar will stop visiting the library, he is hit by the fact that he does not want that, and, worse, that he will be saddened and ultimately weakened by his absence, and that just won't do.

He ponders on his options, and eventually reaches the conclusion that Lothar will not take well to any questioning as to his reaction, and that offering his thanks might well lead to the same ultimate result that he just cannot accept. In the split second that his reflexion takes, Khadgar makes his decision.

"Good," he whispers, too detachedly to be anything like convincing, but he is just grateful that his voice doesn’t hitch.

Lothar blushes even deeper. He is still looking away, wide eyes drilling holes into the wood of the table.

Khadgar turns his attention back to the page. He lets himself smile discreetly and refocuses on his work, quickly finding where he had left off, his thoughts and theories returning swiftly to him once he dives back in.

Lothar stays for another half hour - longer, perhaps, than Khadgar had expected him to be able to stay put after this, but definitely shorter than he would have had Khadgar not asked him for the book. Khadgar notices all this, and files it away in a corner of his mind so he might ponder on it, later, when the arcanic theories start mingling and merging together and he knows he has to take a break. When Lothar leaves, Khadgar is still smiling.

Lothar is back the next day. As he almost silently closes the library door behind him, Khadgar breathes a sigh of relief and then quickly bows his head over the book he is currently studying. He isn’t reading it, however, as Lothar slowly walks over to the table and pulls out a chair and sits down and lays his forearms on the tabletop. Khadgar’s eyes don’t stray but they don’t focus on the words - Khadgar’s entire attention converges to his ears, straining to hear every single movement or breath from Lothar’s direction.

Eventually, Khadgar needs to breathe himself, and he takes a deep breath in, letting his eyes close for two seconds before opening them again and diving back into his work. There are ants under his skin and his legs keep shifting, one over the other and then the other way around, feet shuffling, toes tapping inside his boots. Nevertheless, he manages to reach the end of his chapter, and only then does he allow himself a break.

When Khadgar raises his head, he crosses Lothar’s gaze and he starts. It has been weeks since these blue, blue eyes have bore into him so directly, so frankly - they always seem to glide over him as if he is made of smoke. Lothar can’t help it. Everytime he sees Khadgar, he is reminded of the events of a few months ago, the events that led to the loss of his son, and his childhood friend, and his king. Lothar can’t help, anymore than Khadgar can as he stares at himself in the mirror, but stare painfully at the white strands of his hair, or the deep creases of his wrinkled face. Khadgar makes himself stare for as long as he can take it and then some more, letting the memories of that fateful day wash over him, every morning. Lothar avoids looking at him unless he absolutely has to.

So, it has been a while, and Khadgar isn’t expecting it, as he emerges from his work and finds himself the object of Lothar’s undivided attention. It is clear that Lothar has been watching him for a while now, expression caught in between regret and wonder. When Khadgar rises his head and finally returns his gaze, his face barely shifts, but for the slight pinch of his lips betraying his nervousness.

Khadgar has no idea what Lothar has to be nervous about - but then again, he doesn’t have any idea what he himself has to be nervous about, and yet he can feel the trepidation coursing through his veins, pushing upwards in his throat. They stare at each other for several minutes, waiting for the other to act.

It is Khadgar who, finally, gives in. He breaks eye contact for long enough to check that they are still alone in the library and then he sets a calculating look on Lothar. He traces his bottom lip with his finger, watching as Lothar’s pupils grow wider at the act, and that is when he knows what he has to do.

“Bring me my coat.”

There are a couple of seconds during which he isn’t sure anymore. Lothar doesn’t move and Khadgar frets internally, wondering what exactly he would have to say to somehow backpedal out of this terrible mistake he has just dived head first in. But then, Lothar blinks and gets up and walks across the room to where Khadgar had distractedly thrown his coat over the back of a chair as he had walked into the library. There isn’t ever anyone around: this is the Keep’s private library, and though it used to sometimes be opened for the public, no one is allowed inside the Keep except if on official business anymore these days. 

When Lothar comes back, Khadgar’s coat in his hands, the torches flicker because of a sudden gust of wind. Khadgar shivers and reaches for the coat. Lothar doesn’t hand it to him.

“Hand me the coat,” Khadgar says.

Lothar does.

Khadgar’s breath quickens.

As he grabs hold of the coat, his fingers brush lightly against Lothar’s, and he hopes that this touch alone is capable of communicating all that he is feeling right now, because his words are failing him.

“Sit down,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Lothar does.

The next day, Khadgar asks for everything - or anything, really. An ink bottle. Parchment. This or that book - and how strange it is to have to guide Lothar around the many bookshelves looking for magic tomes. At one point, he even considers asking for food, but then thinks better of it.

At no point does Lothar ever refuse or even question Khadgar’s demands.

They’ve not touched again and they do not talk. Khadgar’s voice is the only one to break the silence. It seems like nothing has changed - and yet everything is different.

That night, Khadgar lies awake and replays in his head every moment of their time spent together. Short, stolen moments, away from the war, and their responsibilities, and the horrors of existence. The library is their space - their own little haven of peace. Outside of it, Khadgar has to argue daily with counselors and warriors and diplomats and Dalaran emissaries who think they know better than him, who was there, who has seen what the Orcs are capable of, what the fel is capable of. Lothar has to command his troops to walk straight into death traps, he has to send messenger to all the friendly leaders, asking, begging for their help. But none of that matters in between these walls.

Once inside, Lothar no longer commands and he no longer begs. And Khadgar orders - and is obeyed.

As he thinks about it, alone in his room, Khadgar’s whole body burns with shame and confusion at the sheer satisfaction that having Lothar obey him brings him.

A few rooms away, Lothar sleeps soundly - better than he has in longer than he can even remember.

Lothar doesn’t like to think too hard about the things that make him happy and aren’t hurting anyone. He spends his whole day having to _think_ \- about the best course of action, about consequences, about strategies, about his men and his people. Lothar is tired of thinking. 

Over the course of the next few days, hardly anything changes. Lothar still sits down silently next to Khadgar, sometimes during the day, sometimes at night, whatever time has them both be up and awake and free for a half hour or even, sometimes, a miraculous full hour. Khadgar still studies and they still don’t talk. But Khadgar asks and receives and Lothar complies to every single demand. And they still don’t talk - and certainly not about _this_.

Khadgar thinks, as he watches Lothar fetch a glass of water for him, that maybe they ought to talk about this. But then he figures that there isn’t much to say.

Lothar hands him the glass wordlessly, and Khadgar takes it without a word of thanks. He takes a few sips, letting his gaze follow Lothar as he sits down next to him. When they are alone, usually, his face is relaxed - not expressionless, not empty, but merely content - with no excess emotion. When he is Commander Lothar, Lord Regent of Stormwind and Leader of the Alliance, his face is always stormy, rage and sorrow and fear all waging a war of their own and bleeding into the crease of his brow. Khadgar has watched him age rapidly in between the day they met and today. His long brown hair is now streaked with white, his face speckled with brown dots. He looks over sixty - he has barely reached forty-five.

Today, however - or is it night already? - his face is closed off and pinched in all the wrong corners and it might fool anyone but Khadgar, and so Khadgar frowns and sets his glass on the table. The noise makes him start but Lothar doesn’t even flinch. Khadgar is no fool, though: he can see the tense lines of his shoulder, the careful way in which he holds his hands on the tabletop. Lothar’s eyes don’t stray past his shoulder but they want to.

Khadgar reaches over and traces a laugh line near Lothar’s mouth - his lips fall open and his eye twitches. Gently, Khadgar cups Lothar’s face, turning it so he is facing him directly, until he has no other choice but to look at him or risk eye-strain from looking to the sides or upwards too long.

His blue eyes - and _oh_ but they’re even bluer than Khadgar’s memory has them be when he dares to think about them - latch onto his. There is surprise, and fear, in the tight lines around them, the crease of his eyebrows, the widening of his pupils. But mainly, there is pain.

“Lothar,” Khadgar whispers.

Lothar licks his lips and clears his throat and only then does he whisper back.

“Yeah?”

And it’s the first time he has talked to him while looking into his eyes for _weeks_.

Sometimes Khadgar catches Taria’s gaze trailing after her brother once their conversation is over, full of worry and conflict. He wonders if she has noticed that herself, the way Lothar’s eyes only seem to latch onto things for merely a second because they glide out of focus again. He wonders if, just as for him, Lothar can’t bare to look in her direction because everything about her, her smile and her hair and her cheeks, reminds him of the man that cherished her and that they both lost. Taria looks after Lothar as if she wants to call him back and hug him and tell him that everything will be alright, the way she had done, many times, in the months since her children’s father’s death.

But Taria lets him go, every time. Khadgar often wonders why.

But - and how can he only realize this now, he does not know - Khadgar, too, always lets him go. When Lothar comes to him and sits next to him and says nothing, Khadgar, too, decides to ignore the pain and the weariness that seeps out of him and permeates the air around him until it’s a wonder how he does not suffocate with every breath he takes - slow breath in, slow breath out, always poised, always controlled, because if his control slips but for one second, then he will drop to the ground and shatter and cut everyone around him. And Khadgar - Khadgar does nothing. He lets him go.

Khadgar stares at Lothar now and asks:

“Will you let me help you?”

Lothar’s blue, blue eyes widen and his mouth is open, letting his quickening breath come out just that much faster, but he doesn’t say a word. Khadgar’s chest feels too tight and his throat is dry.

“Lothar,” he says. Stops. Swallows. “Let me help you.”

And just like that, Lothar’s eyes fill with tears that quickly overflow and glide down his cheeks and his neck, wetting Khadgar’s palm from where he hasn’t taken it away from Lothar’s face, and it is a flood, and how has Khadgar not noticed before that all Lothar needed was-

But then Lothar is tipping forward and Khadgar pulls him in, wraps his arms around him, squeezes tightly, pets his hair, whispers lies into his ear and presses soft kisses on his head. And then Khadgar is issuing orders - “don’t move, stay put, put your arms around me, keep your head against my chest, hold me, tighter, that’s it, let it go, let it go” - and Lothar follows them all.

They stay like this for a long while. They fall silent and still eventually and then neither of them makes to move away and so they stay. Every good thing comes to an end however - and every bad thing, too.

With the littlest of pressure, Lothar pushes away and Khadgar lets go. Lothar’s eyes aren’t even red and puffy from crying anymore, the dried tears having left the barest of trace behind. It is like nothing happened - it is nothing like nothing happened. Khadgar keeps his hands in Lothar’s hair, fingers brushing his ears, his cheeks.

“You did good,” he murmurs, and he has enough of self-awareness to chuckle a little at that.

Lothar’s lips stretch tiredly into what vaguely resembles a smile - it’s closer to one than anything he has attempted in the past few weeks, anyway, and that’s more than enough. Khadgar smiles.

And then Lothar pulls away and this time, as Khadgar lets him go, he doesn’t feel guilty in the least.

Lothar still hasn’t said a word, but in a way, they both know - or is it simply that they hope? - that no words are necessary. Khadgar hears them anyway. He doesn’t need a thank you from someone who just did what they were told.

Lothar leaves. Khadgar knows he will be back. Knowing this, he doesn’t bother looking at Lothar’s retreating back and instead turns to his parchment and his books and refocuses on the task at hand. The next day, just like he knew he would, Lothar is back, and it is like nothing has changed. They both sit and they don’t talk.

It starts, then, with fetching things. But after that, it becomes so much more.


	2. Ambroisie

**Ambroisie**, noun, French for _ambrosia_: the life-giving drink of the gods (Greek mythology).

The library doors slam against the walls as Lothar strides in. He closes them as violently and stomps his way towards Khadgar's corner. He stops in front of the table, breathing heavily. Khadgar raises a hand, stopping him before he can even start speaking, and finishes writing his line. He sets his pen down, blows softly on the drying ink, and finally raises his head to look at Lothar.

His long brown hair is dirty, half plastered to the side of his head by rain and mud and what looks like blood. His clothes are in a similar state. Khadgar conducts a rapid examination but Lothar seems, for all he looks haggard, unharmed. _Someone else's blood then_, Khadgar sighs inwardly. 

Lothar's breathing is slowing but the tension in his body doesn't seem to want to fade. He stares at Khadgar for a long while in silence before he cracks a smile, tired, worn but sincere. With as much force as when he entered the room, he kicks a chair and slumps in it, looking ready to jump out as fast. He puts one hand on the table, leaning backwards on the chair's back legs, and starts tapping his fingers on the tabletop. _Tap tap tap tap-_

"Do you ever sleep?" he asks.

Khadgar blinks, tearing his eyes away from Lothar's fingers.

"Occasionally," he answers gingerly.

Lothar smirks, and Khadgar can see all the contained anger behind that smirk.

"How long’ve you been in here?"

_Since you've left,_ would be the most succinct and honest answer. Khadgar doesn't know exactly when that was - days, weeks, hours - but he knows he has slept between then and now, because he woke up in bed this morning, and he doesn't know how. The last thing he remembers doing is being in the library, reading an obscure High Thalassian text that mentioned the word "fel" exactly once in the hundred pages Khadgar managed to read before he, presumably, passed out. The Thalassian text is currently sitting dejected in one corner of the table, Khadgar not having had the patience to try reading it again since he woke up this morning. He wishes he could say he felt rested after a night in his bed, but he only feels drained, brain fuzzy and soft, and he's ashamed to say that, although he hasn't left the library even once since the morning, he hasn't even finished studying one book. 

Having Lothar here however, brings a little bit of life back into him, and he smiles as Lothar visibly relaxes further into his chair.

Lothar was away on a mission to the far reaches of the Elwynn Forest, to the South. It was, as far as Khadgar had heard, supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission that Lothar tagged along with simply to galvanise the troops. It wasn't supposed to pose any real threat to he who was King regent of Stormwind and leader of the Alliance, but to have their king right there with the soldiers in the field was good for morale - or so Khadgar was told. Each and every one of his supposedly safe scouting mission has ended up a fiasco. This time doesn't seem to have been the exception.

Lothar never tells him when he's due to leave, and Khadgar usually only notices he's gone after a couple days, and he feels too uncomfortable to actually ask anyone whether Lothar is on another scouting mission, or an actually important one that Khadgar has _surely_ heard about, since he _is_ mage counsel to the king, afterall. In reality, the title isn't much more than just that - a title. Khadgar only hears about the missions after they're already over, and by the time the rumor mill has picked up on the more juicy details and they reach the mage, he's already spent one or a couple of hours in company of Lothar, speaking of _everything but_ the mission.

This time doesn't look like it'll be different. Lothar looks, as usual, exhausted and pissed off. He seems to alternate, on good days, between both moods and on bad days they sort of mix and twist on his face. It makes him look older, not that Khadgar would ever say so to Lothar - although he figures he has got the right to, considering his own rather rapid aging. He knows Lothar regards with scorn the silver strands multiplying in his hair and the sharp lines around his eyes and mouth. Khadgar would like to say they make him look more distinguished, wiser in a way. They don't. They only make him look more tired and the violent purple hue his nose and cheeks seem to find a cruel pleasure in turning only further underlines the main cause for Lothar's changing appearance. Between the stress and the drink, Lothar has never looked as bad as he does now.

Khadgar, too busy staring, has completely forgotten what Lothar's question was, but since Lothar doesn't look like he's awaiting an answer, he figures it wasn't too important. 

Khadgar knows how things go from now. They've been following a similar pattern for a few weeks now - not long enough that either of them would actually admit to it being a habit they would miss, but already, they wouldn't know how to act differently. Lothar comes into the library to find Khadgar - and Khadgar is always there to be found. He sits, sometimes they have a useless chat, but most times they just sit in silence as Lothar relaxes and Khadgar braces himself. Then - and that's always the tricky part - Khadgar will ask for something, and there's always a moment of doubt whether Lothar will actually obey, but thus far he's obeyed each and every command without complaint, even the most absurd ones, and Khadgar has been able to breathe for another hour or two. 

When he lays in bed, at night or in the middle of the night, depending on what time Lothar came to check on him and order him to sleep, Khadgar ponders their strange relationship. Or, rather than an relationship Khadgar guesses it's more of a trade arrangement, where Lothar gives and Khadgar receives. But somehow, Khadgar feels like he doesn't get anything out of it but confusion. It doesn't bother him as much as it probably should. Lothar comes to him in need, and leaves feeling just a little bit more in control of himself, and for that reason alone, Khadgar would consider this all worth it. But the truth is, Khadgar finds satisfaction, not just in being able to help Lothar - and the _only one_ able to, at that - but also at the simple fact of being obeyed. He's never been the leader type, not like Lothar undoubtedly is, not like Taria is. It's not a quality that the mages at Dalaran thought good to instill in him, unlike his thirst for knowledge and his flawless rigor. It isn't either something they ever needed to try to punish out of him, like his undying curiosity and stubbornness nearing insubordination. Rather, it's a trait that Khadgar himself couldn't even suspect in him until it became relevant. When Lothar is away and Khadgar doesn't see him for days on end, he hates to admit that he starts _needing_ him. There is something so uncomplicated in the act of ordering someone to do simple tasks, and so intimate at the same time, that Khadgar finds that he is addicted. Focused as they both are on the conflict with the Orcs, neither of them have much time for personal relationships, nor much desire for one. Relationships, as Khadgar sees them, are unnecessarily complex and require too much time for Khadgar to feel comfortable with. But he can't deny that spending time with another person, even if it is in the same space Khadgar already spends so much time in, is a nice change from the usual solitude of the library.

But if he's being honest, it isn't necessarily Lothar's presence he finds himself craving.

As such, as Lothar seems to melt onto his chair, eyes half-lidded, cheeks reddened from the days spent in the cold, Khadgar feels himself be filled with trepidation. They usually wait for a short while before properly starting what they both know Lothar is here for in the first place, keeping up with a charade to which they're the only audience. But Khadgar doesn't think he'll be able to wait this time.

"Lothar," he starts, and immediately at the sound of his name, Lothar's head snaps up, pupils widening, and _oh_ what a beautiful sight. Khadgar insists on calling him "Commander" whenever they're not doing… _this_, whatever this is.

He's just about to voice his first command - he's been thinking about it for a few days, what's the one thing he's never dared ask for before but might just feel brave enough to try this time - when the library doors swing open loudly for the second time that day.

Both men jump to their feet, their hearts beating so fast both are sure the other can hear it.

Taria strides in, her many layered dress swooshing against the floor and her heeled boots hitting the floor loudly. She looks all the more majestic Khadgar hasn't seen her in about as long as Lothar has been gone - just as the commander reminds him to sleep, so he often invites him to eat with the royal family. Furthermore, she looks absolutely pissed.

"Anduin Lothar!" She seethes as she stops in front of the man, prodding her finger in his chest. "What are you doing here."

Lothar's eyes are huge and his face looks so red it must feel burning hot even to Taria whose own face is just inches away from it. Khadgar doesn't think he looks any more dignified. He is looking alternatively at Lothar then Taria then back, confusion and fear fading in his mind.

"I was," Lothar starts saying.

"I don't want to hear it," Taria whispers angrily, "you have been gone for three weeks, and the first thing you do _isn't_ to come _see me_?" Taria's voice cracks on the last words and she raises shaking hands to cover her face with as tears begin to well up.

Khadgar gasps. Three weeks…? Feeling suddenly dizzy, he falls back onto his chair heavily. 

"Khadgar!" Taria cries out.

She's at his side instantly, blinking the tears away, checking his pulse and his forehead for the fever he doesn't have, obeying the mother in her.

Then, she stares at him severely.

"When's the last you've slept, Khadgar ?" The mage smiles at the similarity between her question and Lothar's earlier. But then: "actually, when's the last time you've eaten? By the light, you both truly deserve each other. You're both as foolish!" Taria huffs.

Straightening, Taria wipes the last of her tears away and turns to Lothar.

"Never do this to me again. Now come on, both of you. I'll ask the chef to prepare a quick meal for you, and then you're both consigned to quarters until you've slept for at least six hours. I mean it!"

With that said, Taria turns around and exists, leaving Khadgar and Lothar to stare at each other with raised eyebrows. Eventually, the tension breaks and they both chuckle lightly. As Khadgar stands back up, he is again hit by a wave of dizziness. When the black fades from his eyes, he finds himself staring at Lothar's face, which is much closer than he expects. Lothar's hand is on his back, holding him up and he looks at him worriedly. Khadgar feels too warm in his woolen coat.

"Come," Lothar says, "let's get you something to eat."

Only once Khadgar steps foot outside the library does he realize that it is early morning, further confirming what he already suspected. Although he was under the impression only a day had passed since he'd woken up in his bed - the last time he could remember sleeping - it had been at least twenty-four hours, perhaps even forty-eight. If Lothar had been gone for three weeks, then Khadgar must have fallen asleep more than once in the library, and who knew how many times he'd been found asleep and brought back to his quarters by a well-meaning soul, during those three weeks. Eventually, all the days without Lothar just seemed to blur together.

As they walk towards the kitchens, Khadgar speaks up.

"Lothar," he says, not realizing his slip-up even as Lothar starts and blushes. "Is that blood in your hair?"

Lothar blinks and instinctively raises a hand to card through his dirtied hair. He winces as his fingers get caught in the knots and sheepishly takes his hand away.

“So it would seem,” he says cautiously.

He is avoiding Khadgar’s inquisitive gaze which only furthers the mage’s curiosity.

“I thought these were only scouting missions you go on.”

Lothar takes a deep breath which he releases slowly, the closest thing he will ever get to a sigh.

“They are,” he states, somber. “But some things are always unexpected. We were attacked by an Orc scouting party near the vale. We had no idea the Orcs had travelled so far South already so we were taking by surprise. There was nothing we could do but fight for our lives… we outnumbered them two to one, so we quickly overcame them, but not before they struck two of my men dead. They ended up running away, leaving their own men right where they’d fallen…”

Lothar falls silent, lost in the memory. Khadgar respects his silence for a while, but as they near the kitchens, where they can already hear Taria ordering the kitchen assistants around as if she was the cook, he slows down, forcing Lothar to do so as well.

Carefully, he reaches and touches Lothar’s face, turning it so his cheek is facing him. He gently brushes his hair away from his cheek, tucking it behind his ear, pretending not to notice how red it is. He swipes his thumb over Lothar’s cheek, checks him for any bleeding injury that might explain the blood. He finds nothing.

Lothar seems to understand what Khadgar is looking for, because he is shaking his head and scoffing mirthlessly before Khadgar has even reached his conclusion.

“Cleric Aleena was beheaded right next to me. I gutted the Orc that did it with my sword.”

Khadgar closes his eyes tightly. He hadn’t known the cleric Lothar mentioned but he knew how much he hated to lose even one of his men, especially on what was supposed to be a quiet mission.

“I’m sorry,” Khadgar whispers.

Hand still in Lothar’s hair, mindlessly brushing his thumb across his cheek, Khadgar lets his head fall forward until it is resting just under Lothar’s chin. Lothar hasn’t even bothered changing out of his armor before he had come barging into the library, probably trailing mud behind on the white tiled floor. The angle is uncomfortable and they stay a few seconds too long without moving for it not to become awkward, but eventually Lothar’s arms raise and settle in Khadgar’s back, holding him in place for just long enough for Lothar’s gratitude to be known.

Conscious of the exposed nature of the corridor they’re standing in, they move apart sooner than either would have wanted. They exchange an apologetic glance before both chuckling, trying to disperse the awkwardness neither can totally avoid.

When they finally get to the kitchens, the blush is slowly fading from their cheeks and they are acting as normally as one can, as exhausted as they both are. When they’ve both eaten two plates, Taria regards them with an unreadable look on her face before sighing.

“Alright,” she states, “you’re free to go.”

Khadgar and Lothar clear out their dishes - because they are _not_ children - and bid Taria a good day. It is the early afternoon but they don’t have to consult each other before heading towards the sleeping quarters. Khadgar’s room is one room below Lothar’s, so they stop in the stairs, facing each other.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Khadgar says, not because he thinks he should say that, but because Lothar should hear it.

Lothar smiles, tiredly, but at least it’s a smile.

“See you tomorrow, bookworm,” he says, ruffling Khadgar’s hair.

Khadgar is too spent to try and escape. He watches as Lothar climbs the last fly of stairs before his floor, notices how he favors his right side just a little, enough that Khadgar knows he hurt himself but not too much that it’s serious and needs looking at. It’s nothing a good night’s sleep - or half a day and a night - would not fix, and with that satisfying thought, Khadgar heads to bed.

The next day, Khadgar having woken up just before dawn, bladder screaming and stomach rumbling, finds him in the library again. Rested, he finally gets the courage to peek into that Thalassian book again, and although it stays obscure, Khadgar thinks he is starting to understand part of it. He is still studying this book, table littered with other magic tomes and all the dictionaries he could find, when Lothar sneaks into the room. Khadgar doesn’t even notice him until he lays his hand on his shoulder.

Khadgar starts and blinks up at the intruder. Lothar’s smirking at him, his eyes warm and twinkling. It is a nice change from his usual frown, and it completely erases all of Khadgar’s annoyance at getting startled.

“Commander,” he greets.

Lothar shakes his head slowly. Without removing his hand from his shoulder, he pulls out a chair and sits next to him. His eyes fall closed almost immediately and his breathing is slow, too slow to be natural. Khadgar waits for him to say something, and when it becomes clear that Lothar doesn’t intend to, he refocuses on his book.

Lothar’s hand is warm on his shoulder, a light but definite weight that Khadgar can never quite forget is there. His fingers are inches away from Khadgar’s bare neck, and when he breathes deeply, they actually brush against the skin there. If Lothar notices that Khadgar does so on purpose, he doesn’t say anything.

“Have you eaten?” Lothar asks suddenly.

Khadgar stops frantically looking through a dictionary and actually has to think about it for a second before being able to answer.

“No,” he finally realizes.

“Come on,” Lothar says, already getting up, his hand leaving Khadgar’s shoulder. It leaves Khadgar feeling cold to the bone and he shivers.

“Do you want your coat?”

Khadgar doesn’t even have to answer before the soft wool is settling on his shoulders. Lothar is waiting for him at the door before he has even gotten to his feet, tightening the cape around him. It is warm enough in the Keep that he doesn’t need it, but he is not about to admit that his shiver wasn’t because of the cold.

“What time is it?” he asks when he reaches Lothar.

They begin walking side by side, heading for the kitchens.

“Just before noon. I’m sure the cook will have something ready already.”

“We’re not eating with the Queen?”

Lothar is shaking his head before Khadgar’s even finished asking.

“No, no, no,” he says. “You need to get out of the library more often,” he sends a smirk Khadgar’s direction, “Taria is on a diplomatic mission to Gilneas.”

“Oh,” Khadgar lets out.

Lothar chuckles. It confuses Khadgar a little, not used to seeing him so high spirited. The other man is usually much more subdued in his emotions, and those are generally of the negative order. Today, however, he is energetic, with a skip in his step Khadgar is pretty sure he has never seen. He keeps checking corners and turns as if he is afraid someone will see them even though the corridors are always empty. Nearly all the King’s guards have been reassigned, either to the city defense or to the borders. Only the strictest minimum number of guards have been kept to see to the Keep, and they are confined to the main door and the Council chamber. 

Khadgar isn’t about to comment on it - he is far too happy to just sit back and enjoy.

When they get to the kitchen, an assistant rushes to cater to their needs and they are soon presented with a basket filled with food and drink, as per Lothar’s request. Khadgar cocks an eyebrow and watches. He would have been perfectly satisfied with a quick meal on one of the kitchen tables before going back to the library, but if Lothar has something else planned, then Khadgar is curious to see what it is.

With a secretive smile, the other man enjoins him to follow him, and together they exit the Keep.

It’s a beautiful day, one of those warm fall days that make you believe summer isn’t quite over yet. Khadgar finds himself breathing in deeply, filling his lungs with the warm salty air. The good weather has drawn everyone out, adults fishing in the canals, children playing on the docks. It fills Khadgar with a strange sense of nostalgia, as he observes the screaming and laughing hordes of children running around innocently. It has become a rare sight but it is reassuring to see that nothing can quite take the joy away from the children. Even as it draws a smile out of him, it makes Khadgar feel very old.

Lothar guides him until they reach the Park. By that time, Khadgar has understood what Lothar has in mind and it’s making him shake his head while chuckling lightly. In the back of his head, a little voice says that he has no right to be enjoying himself, even if the weather - and Lothar’s mood - are definitely inviting, but he pushes it down and locks it away. The library can wait.

Luckily, the Park isn’t too overcrowded. It has been raining for days and the grass is still pretty muddy, but Khadgar simply lays his cape on the ground and they both sit down. The sun is shining through the overhead trees just enough that Khadgar can stand to be without his cape. He actually feels better without it, the slight breeze raising tiny goosebumps over his skin, anchoring him into the moment.

The basket in between them, they start unwrapping all the goods that the kitchen assistant thought they might need, which turns out to be a small feast. Khadgar looks around, wondering if they might offer some to nearby children or maybe a duck. But Lothar is already digging in and as he bites into the ham, he lets out a soft sigh of satisfaction that captures Khadgar’s attention.

It is so unexpected that Khadgar just begins to laugh, and what starts as a small chuckle soon turns into full-bellied laughter, until he is lying flat on his back holding his ribs, being shaken by violent chortling bouts. Khadgar laughs until he is breathless and he is not even making sounds anymore, just desperately catching his breath but still laughing through the tears that have begun rolling down his cheeks. All of a sudden, he is sobbing, and he rolls over, hiding his face into the coat-turned-blanket. The sobs are as violent and overwhelming as the laughter had been and Khadgar is helpless as he is shaken apart, thinking how ridiculous it must seem, for an elderly-looking man to be sobbing in the middle of the park, on as sunny a day as this.

But then, a hand wraps around his arm and pulls him up, and another slides behind his back and pulls him forward, and his face is no longer pressed into his coat but against Lothar’s chest, and Lothar’s hand is in his hair, petting him as if he was but a child, and Khadgar hates himself. He hates himself because this is so selfish, because he has no right to be crying as he is now, when he is so fortunate, when so many people are in dire need of his help, and what is he doing? Crying in a park when he should be working? That’s right - he _should_ be working, but as he struggles to break free of Lothar’s hold, the other man only shushes him and holds him tighter. 

Khadgar snorts, pushing against Lothar’s chest. “Come on, let me go,” he demands, voice breaking on a tenacious whimper.

“No,” Lothar practically growls. “Let it out,” he whispers.

Khadgar chokes out a laugh and lets his face be pressed against Lothar’s chest. The tears have subsided, the sobs relented at long last, and he is left sniffing and breathing deeply, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart and his heaving lungs. He feels worn out, even more than he did a few minutes ago. Suddenly he is filled with a feeling he had thought eradicated for good: the need to burrow under a blanket in bed and hide from the world for a few hours, not sleeping, not crying, not doing anything. It's such a childish feeling that he is momentarily overwhelmed by his own embarrassment but it's quickly replaced by sadness, and then that's all that he is: terribly, terribly sad.

His eyes are quickly filling with tears again, and he sniffs forcefully, blinks rapidly and this time when he pulls away, Lothar lets him. Lothar takes one good look at him, and then reaches for an apple in the basket and hands it to him.

"Here. You need to eat. You're skin and bones."

Khadgar accepts the apple with a torn smile but it's a genuine one. The apple is sweet, filled with the summer sunlight, its juice trickling down his chin. Lothar smirks as he notices and reaches over to wipe it off.

Khadgar freezes, and so does Lothar, staring at each other with wide eyes and softly opened mouth. They both look away and clear their throats within seconds, and their blush is enough to chase the slight chill of the air away from their skin. 

After clearing his throat, Khadgar grabs a loaf of bread and bites into it, hoping to hide his fluster. In a more reserved manner, Lothar starts eating again. 

"I received a letter from Ironforge this morning," the commander says, and just like that, they start talking about politics, and news, and strategies, while expertly avoiding any truly upsetting subjects. They've gotten pretty good at that.

Their impromptu picnic lasts well into the afternoon. They get to watch the sun set, the snow glistening atop the mountains surrounding Stormwind City. It is truly a beautiful day, and for the span of an afternoon, both Lothar and Khadgar almost forget they're in the middle of a war. They even catch themselves laughing loudly and _genuinely_ more than once, and that very fact nearly baffles them into silence each time. 

Lothar insists to walk with Khadgar back to the library. They stop in front of the doors, Khadgar toying indecisively with the knob, and Lothar leans his shoulder against the wall, waiting.

"Do you still have some free time left?" Khadgar asks.

Lothar smiles, and Khadgar's heart quickens in trepidation. Between yesterday, when Taria came to get them to eat and then ordered them to sleep, and today when Lothar decided they needed to have lunch outside, they haven't been able to spend anytime together in the library. It is the only place where they would ever allow themselves to be anything other than the mage and the commander - the only place that they feel comfortable doing so. 

But Lothar is shaking his head, looking apologetic, and Khadgar has to fight hard against the rush of disappointment.

"I'm sorry," Lothar says, "I have to leave for Ironforge tonight if I'm to be there in the morning."

"You're leaving?" Khadgar gasps.

Lothar stays silent, but the way he tightens his lips and looks down tells plenty.

"I thought-" Khadgar stops. It doesn't matter what he thought, nor what he wants, nor what he wishes for, for that matter. If he got everything he could ask for, then the world would be at peace, Orcs and Humans finally able to live side by side without trying to destroy each other, the fel and the Legion forces banished from Azeroth back into their demonic realms. 

It takes Khadgar only a couple of seconds to reach a decision. Before he can second-guess it and lose his confidence, he grabs Lothar by the neck, pulling him down in the same movement, and kisses him.

Khadgar hasn't kissed anyone in years. Lothar, he knows, occasionally finds his way to some of the shaddiest bars in Stormwind, and on some memorable occasions, in other allied cities, and gets fantastically drunk and makes out with all kinds of people, who never hesitate to tell everyone and their mother about it the very next morning. It isn't a secret, but it isn't something Lothar is particularly proud of either. Khadgar has only teased him about it once, but the pure self-hatred that had transpired on Lothar's face before he'd been able to school his features into the expected tired smirk had told Khadgar everything he didn't know he wanted to hear.

It is safe to say, then, that this is the first time in a very long time that Lothar has been kissed while sober, and though it is hesitant, and sloppy, and very probably not the best kiss he's ever had, it is more than good enough. Unfortunately, Lothar is way too stunned to react appropriately before Khadgar is already pulling away, cheeks burning bright under the white stubble, eyes expressing an equal amount of apprehension and pure joy. 

"Travel safe," he says.

And he turns the doorknob and walks into the library, letting the doors close softly behind him, leaving Lothar outside. He blinks, and brushes his fingers against his tingling lips, wondering.

"Hu," he eventually expresses.

Faintly, he can feel a great elation building inside of him, but he knows it will take a while before it is fully deployed, filling every single part of him. With this comforting thought, he makes his way to his quarters, packs a bag, and leaves for the gryphon roost.

On the other side of the library doors, Khadgar leans his back against the door he's just closed, breathing heavily. His hands are shaking as he touches his lips. A huge grin breaks out on his face, and he can't help the chortle that escapes his throat.

"_Oh_," he breathes out, "what in the Light have I done?"


	3. Vapeurs

**Vapeurs**, noun, French for _vapors_: taken literally, visible exhalation, as fog, mist, steam, diffused through or suspended in the air; in physics, a compressed gas at a temperature below its critical temperature; in literature, brain fog caused by the excessive absorption of alcohol.

It's a few days later - and don't ask him how many - when Khadgar finally cracks the Thalassian magic tome. He'd been stubbornly refusing to ask anyone for help with it but he had finally admitted defeat and sent a letter off to Dalaran. The answer, which seemed painfully obvious to him now, had arrived this morning - or _a_ morning at least, Khadgar had seen the sun rising lazily above the sea as he'd greeted the carrier at the Keep's gate. The book mixes science, and arcane, and demonology and mythology in a confusing allegorical story about births and rebirths, and Khadgar honestly wishes he hadn't lost so many waking hours studying it, but it is an incredible resource nevertheless, and he is sure many at Dalaran will welcome his translation with tearful gratitude. It isn't much help in figuring out how to fight fel, but Khadgar, at the point he is at looking through the books he'd brought from Karazhan to Stormwind, is only glad this one isn't a cooking recipe or that one erotica he had found underneath Medivh's bed and that he'd seriously considered burning after he'd spent the larger part of a day decrypting its ancient Dwarwish calligraphy. 

He is just about to put pen to paper and start the translation when he hears:

"Archmage Khadgar?"

He closes his eyes and stops himself from sighing out loud. Slowly, he puts his quill down and turns to face the soldier who is waiting by the table, standing straight. He hadn't even heard him come in.

"Yes?"

The soldier's eyes flicker to his for a second before he looks up and at the wall again. It's a sign of respect that Khadgar doesn't feel that he deserves. He's tried to tell the soldiers so before but they just keep doing it anyway.

"It is almost dawn, sir."

This time, Khadgar audibly sighs. He massages his forehead and closes his eyes tightly.

"Of what day?"

The soldier, bless his soul, doesn't even blink at the question.

"Friday, sir."

A full day since he's received the Kirin Tor's letter. Six days since Lothar went to Ironforge. Almost another week gone without Khadgar being able to contribute anything to the war effort.

"Lady Taria sends me to tell you to go sleep, sir," the soldier says, and he even has the courtesy of sounding sheepish.

It isn't his job to tell an overworked mage when to go to sleep, but Khadgar is grateful, and so he closes his ink well, rearranges the papers and books on the table so they at least seem organized, and gets up.

"Thank you," he tells the soldier, making sure to cross his gaze.

The soldier nods and turns on his heels. Khadgar watches him leave the room. He could stay up for another few hours before the need for sleep became too strong, but he figures that he might as well head to bed now and work later. If nothing else, it'll placate Taria.

Khadgar drags his tired body through the Keep's corridors. Every step is a painful reminder of his body's physical age and he groans as he reaches the top of the staircase. Now he isn't focused on his studies anymore, tiredness has settled in his limbs and he wants nothing more than to fall into bed. He realizes he probably should have gotten something to eat first, but his need for sleep is currently stronger than his need for food. He makes a mental note to remember to eat first thing waking up.

But when he pushes his door, he stops short at the sight.

Lothar is sitting on his bed. At the sound of the door, he slowly raises his head, and gives him a small smile.

"Good morning," he says, voice low and rumbling.

He looks exhausted - he has probably been up all night, traveling. Khadgar is overwhelmed with annoyance at the risks that Lothar takes, and an incredible surge of affection for the man.

He closes the door behind him, takes one step forward, and then stops. Lothar stands up and walks to him, but he also stops, and they're just standing there, neither of them really sure what to do.

This isn't their usual space: Lothar has never been to Khadgar's quarters before. They've only ever met in the library, or the mess, or the queen's private dining room. But in here, where they're even more in private than even the library, they don't know how to act. It's new and neither of them are sure whether they like it yet, but they're not going to back off either. Whatever happens from now on, they'll have to deal with it, because they've crossed the line they never meant to cross. 

Because he's not about to have a repeat of last time, Khadgar feels like he has to ask:

"Have you been to see Taria?"

Lothar snorts.

"Yeah. First thing."

Khadgar figures that might be why Taria sent someone to get him to go to his quarters: if she hadn't, who knows how long would Lothar have waited for him here. Khadgar feels strangely betrayed at the thought. He hasn't gotten to have a say in this at all: Lothar had already chosen this new space for him, for them. Khadgar isn't sure he is ready, but he is also aware that he's not entirely guiltless. He has, after all, kissed Lothar last time they saw each other.

But this still feels unfair to him. He hasn’t gotten any warning, has just been ordered into the lion’s den, into this little clever plan that Lothar and Taria came up with to catch him unawares. As soon as the thought has formed, he realizes how fake it sounds, but he can’t help the irritation that grows in his mind. 

"Good," he comments.

The small talk has done nothing to disperse the awkwardness, and Lothar is now looking at him with a slightly amused look on his face, and Khadgar is even more vexed.

Khadgar moves around the room, discarding his coat and sitting down on a chair to untie his boots. It isn’t because Lothar is invading his space that he is going to act any differently, he decides hotly. His tiredness is all but forgotten, but he clings stubbornly to the idea of sleep, as if by pretending that this is perfectly normal, then it’ll become so.

"Have the dwarves agreed to send reinforcements?" he asks.

One night they dined together, Taria had explained to him what Lothar needed to be in Ironforge for. Khadgar hadn’t asked, but he would have been lying if he had said he wasn’t curious. Now, it seems as good as any subject of conversation. 

Lothar, however, doesn’t seem to think so. He groans, and follows Khadgar, sitting down on the bed in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he says quietly. 

Khadgar snorts and keeps on untying his boots, pulling on the strings with far more force than necessary. It’s stupid, because it actually makes the process harder, but Khadgar is far too upset right now to care.

“Okay,” he says dryly. “How was the weather in Dun Morogh?”

He says it as sarcastically as he means it, and he wants to apologize the second it is out of his mouth. But he doesn’t actually regret it. He knows he is acting irrationally, and he gave up trying to justify it to himself as soon as he'd realized. But just because he doesn’t feel regret, doesn’t mean he doesn’t realize how unkind his attitude is. He looks up to face Lothar - Lothar, whom he has started to call _Anduin_ sometimes, in his mind, and always feel so guilty to do so, because they’re not there yet, but it also feels so wrong to keep calling him by his last name, after everything. Khadgar grimaces apologetically. But instead of the anger he fully expects from him, he is faced with Lothar’s quickly watering eyes. Lothar irritatingly blinks the tears away, and then he speaks, and his voice is so tight and wet that it twists at Khadgar’s heart painfully.

“Khadgar. Please.”

Khadgar freezes. For the first time this morning, he actually looks at Lothar. His brow is furrowed, and his shoulders tensed. Khadgar has already noticed that he looks tired, but he _always_ looks tired, except now he realizes that he looks even more exhausted than usual. He isn’t hurt, at least not visibly, and unlike when he’s gone on a scouting mission, he is clean. But his face, underneath his beard, looks pale and he has lost weight in the past few months, a fact only made more obvious by his pallor. His hair is streaked in gray and looks dull, but at least it’s brushed and gathered on his neck with a hair tie. All of that only serves to make even more glaring the large blue bags underneath his eyes, the redness around them, the tight skin through which shows thin blue veins. Khadgar sees all this, and he frowns.

“Please what?”

He’s leaning on his knees, face angled towards Lothar, who is himself leaning forward from where he’s sitting on the bed. It feels, weirdly, as if they’ve never been closer before, even as they’ve sat almost hip to hip countless of times in the library. But here, in Khadgar’s bedroom, softly illuminated by the light of dawn, everything seems smaller, closer. More intimate.

"Help me," Lothar whispers.

Khadgar knows what he is asking for - he just doesn't know whether he can give it to him. He has spent the past week thinking about it - Light, the past _month_. He'd been ready, and about to do it when Lothar came back from the last scouting mission, when Taria interrupted. He would have, he knows, but he doesn't know whether, back then, Lothar would have accepted it, would have wanted it.

He wants it now. But Khadgar isn't so sure anymore. He feels, belatedly perhaps, that they ought to talk about this first - this, them, here, now - but talking would ruin the spell and then it won't work anymore. It goes against all of Khadgar's principles, but he feels as if he knows Lothar in and out, as if he knows him better than even Lothar himself does. He feels as if he instinctively understands each and every one of his needs, and how to fulfill them, and that - that scares him. Because if anyone had told him they felt that way about someone, Khadgar wouldn't have believed them. He scarcely believes himself. And he knows that they need, for once since this _thing_ started, to sit down and talk about it.

But Lothar is staring at him, and he hasn’t begged yet, and Khadgar doesn’t want him to, but he also knows that it wouldn’t take much to actually make him beg. Abruptly, Khadgar retreats to the back of his chair, putting as much distance between him and Lothar. The other man’s hands reach as if to hold him back but Lothar stops himself, hands contorting in the empty air, and his face twists in a grimace.

“I don’t, I don’t know,” Khadgar fumbles. “Lothar.”

The other man scoots forward and falls to his knees in front of him, hands clasping his forearms firmly. Khadgar gasps.

“Yes, you do,” Lothar says. “You know how. Help me. Please.”

His eyes are wide-open, so terribly blue. They jump between Khadgar’s eyes, latching onto them wildly. They’re the last bright thing about Lothar, the very last thing separating him from the corpses that he keeps putting into the ground.

“You have to help me,” he cries, letting his head fall onto Khadgar’s chest, letting it loll side to side, fingers digging into the sleeves of Khadgar’s shirt, tiny little pricks of pain that travel up his arms and transform halfway into full-body shivers that leave Khadgar shaken to the core. 

“Lothar,” Khadgar whispers, “you don’t mean it.”

Instead of insisting further, Lothar simply leans forward, his hands running up Khadgar’s arms until they’re resting on either side of his neck. Khadgar can feel his own pulse jumping against Lothar’s warm palms. Lothar’s fingers twist into the hairs on the back of his neck. Khadgar is trembling.

“Tell me to stop, then,” Lothar murmurs.

His lips are inches away from Khadgar’s, and it physically hurts, the distance between them. Khadgar breathes in shakily and lets out a sigh. On instinct, he leans in, wanting nothing more than to feel those lips press against his, but Lothar turns his face away, staying always out of his reach. Khadgar whimpers.

“Ask me,” Lothar’s voice is barely audible, and Khadgar feels more than hears the words, “ask me, please.”

Khadgar’s eyes close tightly, and he shakes his head minutely.

“I don’t know if I can...”

Lothar’s breath is warm against his cheek, the ghost of a touch. One of his hands has circled around his neck so it rests on his nape, fingers dug deep into his hair, while the other has descended and is pressing on his chest. Khadgar can feel its pressure with each of his breath, feel the way Lothar’s fingers toy with the small buttons on his shirt, begging to be let in, and Khadgar could cry from the sheer frustration of it all.

“You have to,” Lothar says, his voice a low rumble.

Khadgar’s eyes widen and cross Lothar’s gaze. He holds it, a silent dare. _You have to_, he says, and means _I need you to_, means _you need this as much as I do._ Khadgar hates that he is right.

Lothar - _Anduin_ his traitorous mind corrects - wets his lip, and Khadgar’s gaze is irresistibly drawn to the movement. His hand has found its way underneath his shirt, splayed across his chest like a hot iron. Khadgar’s hands tense on his knees, and his teeth hurt from being clenched so tightly. His heart is beating erratically, so fast and so loudly. Anduin - Lothar - _Anduin_, in comparison to him, seems so calm; his breathing slow, measured, chest rising and falling quietly, eyes never wavering from where they’ve latched onto Khadgar’s and they’re a hook, and Khadgar was never going to be able to resist.

“Lothar,” he breathes out, and it is as much an apology as it is a sigh of relief, “kiss me.”

He doesn’t wait to be told twice - he surges forward, and crashes their lips together. It’s messy, it’s hot, and wet, and full of teeth. Khadgar’s hands rise up to catch Anduin by the neck and pull him ever closer. Their tongues meet and melt into one another. Anduin’s fingers dig into Khadgar’s scalp, making his back arch. Anduin’s mouth slips from his lips to his chin and down to his neck and settles there. But then Anduin just stops, breathing heavily, open-mouthed, against his neck, and Khadgar’s eyes roll in their orbit as he realizes what Anduin is waiting for.

“Su-uh... ah...” He has to clear his throat and swallow before he can get the word out: “Suck,” he orders.

Lips attach themselves to his skin and Khadgar moans loudly. Anduin mouths his neck until it’s raw and painful and Khadgar is shifting wildly under him, and even then he keeps going. A chuckle frees itself from Khadgar’s chest, and he pushes at Anduin’s shoulder and neck, while also trying to pull him closer, which is, overall, a perfectly pointless endeavor.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, “stop.” Immediately, Anduin’s dedicated attempt to suck him of his blood stops, and Khadgar takes a few seconds to catch his breath, before he snakes a hand behind Anduin’s neck and pulls him in once again. “Kiss me,” he whispers right before he presses his lips on his.

Anduin does - and he does so with all the commitment and energy that he previously showed. He kisses him as if that’s what he’s been raised to do, as if that is what the Light has predestined him to be doing right at this moment, as if everything he ever has done and everything he will ever do, will be so that he can kiss Khadgar like this. It’s controlled and precise, but it isn’t clinical. He kisses with barely contained passion, simmering just under the surface of what appears to be a perfectly normal kiss for the older man. Anduin is good, but Khadgar figures he knew that already, but he also knows - without having to ask - that this is the first time he’s ever kissed anyone _like that_, just quite _like that_. What little doubts Khadgar still harboured melt away to nothing as Anduin deepens the kiss and somehow presses their bodies even closer together.

The chair isn’t exactly designed to hold the both of them, and though it’s doing a brilliant job of supporting them so far, Khadgar eventually takes pity on it.

“Lothar,” he mumbles in the kiss. The man immediately withdraws, waiting with bated breath. “Get off,” he says gently.

At some point, Anduin has risen from his kneeling position and he is almost sat right atop Khadgar’s lap, awkwardly holding himself up with a hand on the back of the chair and by the strength of his legs. He lets himself fall backwards on his knees, so he is back to kneeling in front of Khadgar. His hands slide down Khadgar’s body, coming to rest high on his thighs. Khadgar, who is sitting in a rather undignified sprawl, finds himself having to stare down the length of his own body to see Anduin. His mouth dries as he realizes just what kind of position they ended up in, and suddenly Anduin’s hands on his thighs are burning leaden weights.

It takes Anduin a bit longer to realize how flustered Khadgar has suddenly become. When he does notice, he grins and leans slightly forward. Khadgar’s breaths are coming out ragged and loud, and even Anduin’s breathing is now accelerating.

“What do you want?” Anduin asks.

Khadgar shakes and hesitates.

“Lothar…” He can’t believe how frail his own voice sounds. He closes his eyes and swallows before opening them again. Anduin’s gaze hasn’t wavered: it is as focused as Khadgar has seen it in a long time. It settles somewhere deep inside Khadgar and it is as if a weight has been removed from his chest. “Are you sure?” he still asks.

Anduin smirks even wider and rolls his eyes.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeats.

It doesn’t go past Khadgar how ironic it is that Anduin is ordering him to order him. It awakens his rebellious spirit, which he tries to tame as soon as he feels it rising in him - the feral need to disobey is not what will get him what he wants today. Instead, it shifts and transforms into growing dissatisfaction towards Anduin, and Khadgar runs with it. Briskly, he shifts forward, spreading his legs on either side of Anduin, and grabs him by the neck. Anduin gasps and the sound is choked up as Khadgar pulls his face up closer to him. Anduin’s eyes are filled with equal part fear and trepidation, and it fuels Khadgar’s own excitement. A furious blush has replaced Anduin’s pallor. It deepens even further as Khadgar lets a grin break out on his face.

“What I want, hu?” he says hoarsely. “I want you to do everything I say, as I say it. I want you to listen closely and to obey. Can you do that for me?”

Anduin whimpers and nods fitfully.

"Say it."

"Yes, I'll do that for you," Anduin whispers.

He's close to his breaking point, Khadgar can tell, but what will break, he is unable to say. He himself feels as if he is slowly slipping down a really steep cliff, experiencing the fall in slow motion as the entire chain of events that led to this moment flashes before his eyes. He sees Anduin's haunted eyes every time he came to the library, the small, so genuine smiles that seemed reserved just for him, he feels the way Anduin had shaken uncontrollably in his arms that one fateful day that had started it all, the relief that would shine on his face with each of Khadgar's softly spoken orders.

Khadgar feels a pang of guilt, because he knew what he was doing, what his actions had been doing to Anduin, all this time. He had suspected what the result of this all would be, how it would inevitably escalate and shift into something that no one, not even either of them, would be able to name. But still Khadgar had persisted, telling himself that he was doing this for Anduin, because he needed this, when truth is, Khadgar enjoyed it, and he was sick with guilt, sometimes, when he thought about it for too long. So he'd stopped - not stopped doing it - how ever could he - but thinking about it. He'd decided to let it run its course, selfishly wanting for Anduin to eventually realize that _this_ could not go on without having disastrous consequences. He'd wished Anduin would come to him one day and refuse to play the game anymore, because Khadgar knew that he didn't have it in him to call it quits, because he knew he didn't want to stop, and wanted it to lead to this very moment - Anduin, on his knees, in front of him, red lipped, and blushing furiously, but looking so content with the current course of events that Khadgar, in spite of his doubts and the self-hatred he'd come to call his own, just cannot refuse the man he loves what he wants.

And right now Anduin wants to-

“Untie my trousers.”

Khadgar releases his hold on his neck and immediately, Anduin applies himself to untying the knot on his trousers. His hands are shaking slightly, so it takes him a moment, but when he is finally done, he sits back down on his knees and lays both hands on his thighs. The stillness is visibly painful but he eagerly raises his head and stares at Khadgar. Waiting.

Khadgar breathes out slowly.

“Good,” he says, and Anduin would blush deeper if his cheeks weren’t already the brightest shade of red, it’s almost purple. Khadgar is almost worried he is about to pass out from the blood rush. “Now pull them down.”

It is weird, to have someone else pull his pants down, especially as the angle isn’t exactly the most comfortable: Khadgar is sitting on the edge of the chair, legs apart. But Anduin does it so dutifully, hooking his fingers underneath the waistband and pulling, slipping his hands under his ass and lifting it just enough so that he can pull the pants down his legs. He lets them pool around Khadgar’s feet, still covered by the untied boots. Legs bare, apart from the thin linen underwear that stops at his knees, Khadgar shivers.

“Remove my boots,” he asks.

Anduin gently lifts each of his feet to slip the boots off, setting them aside carefully, making sure that they are well aligned on the stone floor. It makes Khadgar smile, and he begins repressing it before realizing how absurd that would be. So instead, he lets himself smile wildly at Anduin, who reciprocates, though a bit more subdued.

"Good," Khadgar says, less to actually praise Anduin than to stall for a moment to compose himself.

Anduin's gaze is flicking up and down, drawn to Khadgar's crotch but consciously focusing back on his face. Aware of that, Khadgar has to blush. If he had managed to fool himself about the nature of their current exchange, then there would be no denying it anymore. As focused as he had been on Anduin, Khadgar had mostly ignored himself, but he suddenly becomes hyper aware of his body. His bare legs are overrun by goosebumps and his cock twitches under the sudden attention. The movement attracts Anduin's gaze once more and his pupils visibly widen. Khadgar gasps.

Painstakingly, he manages to refocus on the task at hand. "Take off my socks."

Anduin chuckles and the sound releases the last of the tension in Khadgar's body. He sits back and presents each of his feet in turn for Anduin to slip the socks off. The wool is removed slowly, slipping off his toes like a caress. Anduin swings the socks to the side so mindlessly that it is comical, after his careful removal, and Khadgar chokes out a laugh. Anduin's eyes wrinkle and he even dares to wink at him. Khadgar looks at him fondly - he is glad that, despite the still very real and present strangeness of the situation, they are both able to finally relax. And yet, Anduin still waits obediently, hands laid out on his thighs. 

Khadgar regards him thoughtfully for a while, left foot still raised in the air, moving in small circles. Eventually, he decides to just go for it, figuring that, if he ever did cross a line Anduin doesn't want crossed, then he would put a stop to _this_, and Khadgar would just have to stand down and live with the embarrassment of what had almost happened. Except that Khadgar really doesn't think that he'd be able to live with it, and so he is fiercely hoping that Anduin will just go with it as Khadgar straightens his legs and presses his feet on his stomach.

Anduin doesn't say anything but he does raise an intrigued eyebrow at the action.

"Massage my foot," Khadgar smirks.

Anduin's second eyebrow raises slowly and Khadgar has to hide his grin under his hand, twitching on his chair so as to hide his nervousness. He feels mad, spinning out of control, on the edge of the precipice, and yet he's never felt better: he's elated, he's excited, he's confident. And Anduin seems to get it, because he smiles oh so gently, and picks up Khadgar's foot. His thumbs press into the skin, stretching it, rubbing it. He pulls on each of Khadgar's toes, and then runs his fingers down the sole, making Khadgar laugh, and presses down the length of the bone. Khadgar hums contentedly and lets his eyes fall shut, only keeping them open a sliver so that he can observe. Anduin glances at him occasionally, and he always smiles, the kind of very tiny smile that seems like it's telling you a secret. Khadgar smiles back.

When he's done with Khadgar's left foot, Anduin puts it down and before Khadgar has got the chance to snap out of his momentary bliss, he's pulled his right foot up and started massaging it. Khadgar looks over at him with all of his surprise clear as day on his face. Anduin just shrugs and continues his ministrations. When Khadgar starts wiggling away, he lets him go, and naturally goes back to his position, hands on thighs.

_What now?_ He seems to be asking. 

Khadgar wishes he didn't know - but he does, he knows exactly what comes next, and it scares him.

"Come here," he whispers.

Rising on his knees, Anduin leans over him, hands on the back of the chair on either side of Khadgar's head. He leans in until their faces are almost touching. Khadgar's vision blurs as he tries to keep looking at him.

"Kiss me," he murmurs.

Their mouths meet, sliding wetly against one another. Khadgar knows how he wants it to go, now, so he doesn't hesitate in prying Anduin's lips open with his tongue and enter his mouth. Their tongues dance and lick. Anduin sucks lightly on his tongue, and it's weird, but it's good. Without realizing, Khadgar has started letting out small moans of pure satisfaction, but the realization doesn't come with the expected mortification: it's followed by a second, way easier realization that he doesn't care. He doesn't, at all, because Anduin's hands are sliding over his shirt and slipping under it, across his naked stomach. It twitches under the touch. Khadgar has got his hands on Anduin's back, and he can feel him arching into the kiss, trying to get closer to him out of instinct. It's the hottest kiss Khadgar has ever had.

When they part, they stay close to one another, sharing breath. Anduin is rubbing circles into his sides, and Khadgar's stomach is contracting in rhythm. His erection is unavoidable now, pushing forward in his underpants. Looking down, Khadgar notices that he is not alone in this situation: Anduin's leather breeches look definitely too tight. That's when Khadgar is hit with an idea.

"Step back," he says.

Although Anduin does question him with a confused look, he doesn't say a word. Khadgar wonders if he would speak should he ask him to or if Anduin's silence is another one of the unspoken rules that determined the very possibility of this moment. Not wanting to find out, Khadgar is happy to content himself with the silence.

Anduin stands in front of him, and his taller height, combined with Khadgar still sitting, means his crotch is right in front of his face. Khadgar strokes his bottom lip and Anduin's knees buckle. Eyebrows raised high, Khadgar slowly looks up at Anduin. He is staring shamelessly at Khadgar's mouth. His pupils are blown wide, the blue of his irises almost entirely replaced with black. Khadgar grins lazily and, experimentally, sticks his tongue between his teeth, biting slightly.

Anduin groans.

Khadgar beams.

"Well," he can't help but say, "that's interesting."

Anduin is glowering at him, but the redness of his cheeks tell that it is more out of embarrassment than actual annoyance. Still, Khadgar knows when not to insist - although that doesn't mean he won't use that new piece of precious information to his advantage.

Khadgar shifts on the chair, spreading his legs so he is more comfortable. His butt is starting to be a bit sore from the unforgiving hard wood seat, but he doesn't feel like getting up and moving to a comfier setting just yet.

Anduin is standing very close to him, so Khadgar instructs him:

"Further away." When Anduin has taken a few steps back: "There. Perfect." Smiling, Khadgar delivers the final blow: "Now strip."

By the look on his face, it is obvious that Anduin did not expect that, although he should have. It is, afterall, exactly what he's asked Khadgar for: to tell him what he wants him to do. And Khadgar wants to watch Anduin strip out of these clothes that he's imagined himself removing countless of times, shifting alone in his bed, one hand around himself, biting the pillow. Khadgar has caught glimpses of Anduin's body before, on rare occasions that he's been to see him train, and Anduin would strip his shirt, exposing his glistening skin. It was enough to spike up Khadgar's nighttime fantasies for weeks. He realizes, as soon as Anduin starts moving, starting with the strings of his breeches, the kind of mistake he has just made. There is a world of difference between Anduin removing his shirt because he is too warm and him stripping his trousers because Khadgar has asked him to, and Khadgar is not ready.

"No," he quickly interrupts. Anduin stops, hands hovering over his waistband, eyebrow cocked. "Start with your tunic."

He wonders - stupidly, perhaps - whether Anduin always starts stripping with his trousers, rather than the surcoat and shirt, or if he went straight for the trousers for Khadgar’s sole viewing pleasure. He wonders what Anduin looks like, not removing his clothes _for_ anyone, but simply for himself, before he goes for a bath, or before he goes to sleep. He wonders if he’ll ever get to find out.

Anduin doesn’t even do him the courtesy of looking surprised. He simply looks amused as he starts unfastening the buckles keeping his tunic closed. He lets it slide open and immediately starts pulling on the strings of his shirt.

“Hold on,” Khadgar has to admonish him, “take off your tunic and put it on the bed.”

There’s a definite flash of annoyance that passes by like lightning on Anduin’s face. Khadgar hardens his gaze in response, a tacit dare - but also a way out: _you can always say no._

Anduin removes his tunic and puts it on the bed. Khadgar smiles.

“Now, untie your shirt. Then set it on the bed.”

As he complies this time, Anduin is uncharacteristically slow, dragging the action for way longer than it should. Khadgar doesn’t comment, watching silently, dragging his fingers across his lips thoughtfully. He follows Anduin’s fingers as they pull on the strings, untightening them, exposing his undershirt. When Anduin finally reaches down to pull the shirt over his head, the movement makes his undershirt ride up and reveals his stomach, pulled taut with the movement. It makes Khadgar’s throat go dry.

Anduin swings his shirt to one side of the room, apparently growing tired of this particular game. His face expresses the challenge he doesn’t want to voice and Khadgar is all but ready to rise up to it.

“Good. Now your chemise.”

A smile pulls at Anduin’s mouth, a clear sign that he is fighting his amusement, trying to stay stone-faced and obedient. Khadgar doesn’t mind his mirth: he himself is having a hard time not grinning like a fool. It reassures him further as to the nature of their play, that this is okay, this is good.

Anduin doesn’t even bother going slowly now. He quickly untightens his undershirt and pulls it over his head. His chest, even if it’s nothing Khadgar hasn’t seen before, takes his breath away. He is staring with clear arousal, now, he knows, more than the clinical gaze that he has been applying himself to. The unreality of the situation suddenly strikes him as he caresses Anduin’s bare chest with his gaze, counting the scars, appraising his muscled stomach and his well-defined breasts. Anduin, in spite of his age, and his unfortunate habit of drinking himself to oblivion, remains one of the most well-built men Khadgar has ever had the chance to admire. 

On the rare occasions Khadgar had been to observe on the training grounds, he had the curiosity to look at the other men and women currently sparring. They were all, if not more, than as muscled as their commander, some of them younger, a few older. He'd been able to appreciate their looks but he inevitably would refocus on Anduin. His was the only body that would awaken such violent feelings in Khadgar, that would make him feel so alive. Khadgar had been so shocked at that realization that he hadn’t even tried to find a reason for his attraction. He had come to accept it as one of those facts of life, neither new nor old.

Watching Anduin now, his breath coming out quicker than normal, Khadgar is hit by a similar feeling of strange familiarity. It’s the most natural thing to do to let his gaze follow the line of hair down Anduin’s belly that dives under his underwear. They’re held tight by his belt, underlining the dip of his hip bones. Khadgar longs to reach over and slide his hands down those impossibly smooth hips and slip his fingers underneath his belt. He wants to pull Anduin to him, wants to drag his mouth over his nipples, to bite down gently on them and feel Anduin gasp over him, wants to cup his ass and lick his skin, wants to feel Anduin close to him, to lose himself in his scent. Khadgar closes his fists and stays put.

“Take off your belt,” he says, his voice tight. He knows it doesn’t go unnoticed but he doesn’t care anymore - he knows he is having a similar effect on Anduin, if the bulge in his pants is anything to go by.

The belt comes off with a satisfying slick sound. Anduin lets it swing freely for a few seconds before dropping it to the floor. A loud cling indicates the metal buckle hitting the floor, but neither men even flinch: they’re too busy staring each other in the eyes. They’re on an equal footing now, both half-naked, Anduin bare chested and Khadgar’s legs bare.

This is where the balance tips.

“Now, your trousers.”

It takes Anduin a few seconds before moving to obey and Khadgar has to focus on his breathing as the panic rises again. He forces himself to stay silent, wanting nothing more than to apologize, take it back, take it all back, give Anduin a clear way out of this, but he knows it is already way too late for this. When Anduin finally moves and starts untying his trousers, Khadgar breathes out in relief, and it feels like a blessing. No longer held up, the trousers slide off just slightly, hanging on Anduin’s sharp hips. As Anduin slides them lower, his cock slips over the hem, pushing against the thin fabric of his pants. Khadgar’s mouth waters at the sheer sight and his pulse quickens painfully. 

He simply can’t take it anymore.

Jumping to his feet, he strides towards Anduin. When he stops right in front of him, Anduin stares at him with a frown, fingers still hooked in his waistband. Khadgar covers his hands with his, slipping his own fingers underneath the fabric. He starts pulling it off, slowly uncovering Anduin’s thighs. The breeches hit the floor with a heavy thump. Khadgar rests his hands against Anduin’s hips, leaning forward until his lips brush against his cheek. Anduin’s warm breath is coming out in quick short puffs against his temple. Khadgar mouths at Anduin’s jaw, then down his neck, feeling the rush of his blood under his tongue. As he sucks in a little harder, Anduin’s breath hitches and his exhale is closer to a moan. Unable to stop himself from smiling, Khadgar hides his face against Anduin’s shoulder.

As close as they are, he can feel Anduin’s erection pushing against his stomach. It sends a thrill up his spine. He slides his hands down and forward until he is inches from Anduin’s crotch. But when he feels the man tensing suddenly, he freezes.

“Are you okay?” he whispers in Anduin’s shoulder. He plants a soft kiss upon it, trying to get him to relax.

Anduin nods but he stays unnaturally straight-backed and still. Khadgar raises his head and crosses his gaze, frowning in concern. It makes Anduin smile, and though it is a little strained, it’s sufficiently genuine to reassure Khadgar.

“I’m fine,” Anduin confirms. “It’s just… been a while, I guess,” he admits.

Khadgar scoffs wryly. “Me too,” he says. “Do you trust me?”

Anduin’s pupils are blown wide, his mouth gaping on bated breath. “Yeah,” he breathes out.

Khadgar doesn’t wait for more of an endorsement: at once, he falls to his knees. Anduin’s whimper sends a shot of pleasure straight to his own cock. He has to push down onto his straining flesh, trying to accommodate himself in his pants. The feeling of the fabric against his skin is maddening but he forces himself to breathe through his nose and refocus on the task at hand.

His fingers make quick work of the knot keeping Anduin’s pants up. They fall down to the floor and his cock springs upwards, already leaking precum. Khadgar licks his lips reflexively and Anduin’s hips buck forward. Tightening his hold on him, Khadgar laughs brightly.

“Overeager, are we?” he says, eyes shining bright as he stares up at Anduin. 

His face is bright red and his nostrils flaring up. Taking pity on him, Khadgar finally puts his hand on him, forming a loose fist and pumping twice. Anduin’s knees buckle dangerously. He throws his head back, a whine tearing itself from his throat. It turns into a choked-out gasp though as Khadgar swiftly takes him in his mouth. Anduin’s cock hits the back of his throat and he has to pull back as quickly so as to avoid choking. He laughs a little breathlessly, stroking Anduin as he regains his composure. He licks the tip of his cock, humming at the salty taste. He revels in the noises that he’s drawing out of Anduin above him, little gasps and moans that sound like they’re breaking free against Anduin’s will.

Anduin’s hands tangle into Khadgar’s hair, thumbs stroking his ears. He’s gentle, however Khadgar can feel the tension in his limbs. Decided to prove to Anduin that he’s in good hands, Khadgar takes a deep breath and swallows him down again. Anduin’s fingers twist in his hair, pulling almost painfully. It makes it all become even more overwhelming; the smell of Anduin’s arousal up his nose, the weight of his dick on his tongue, the fullness of it against his cheeks as Khadgar hollows them out and slides back and forth experimentally. He wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t done this in a while, but the two years between his leaving the Kirin Tor and finding his way into the Stormwind barracks had taught him a thing or two. If the whispered words of praise and urging that fall from Anduin’s mouth are anything to go by, he hasn’t lost any of his skill while out of practice.

While he busies his tongue with Anduin’s cock, his hands find their way back to his bum. His fingers start kneading the firm skin of Anduin’s buttcheeks, preventing him from pulling out. Still, Anduin keeps pulling and stretching Khadgar’s face to try and get him to withdraw. Eventually, Khadgar does, letting Anduin’s erection slip out messily rather than trying to lick it clean. As he does, spit drops down his chin, mixed with precum, creating small strings in between his lips and the tip of Anduin’s cock that catch the light.

“What is it?” he asks Anduin.

The other man’s eyes are wide-opened, mouth agape. He looks like he is having trouble breathing. Worried, Khadgar immediately straightens. He peppers Anduin’s stomach with open-mouthed kisses until his head is level with Anduin’s chest, which is rising and depleting hurriedly. He places both hands on Anduin’s back, slick with sweat. Raising his head, Khadgar stares straight into Anduin’s eyes, making sure that he is looking at him and listening.

“Lothar,” he calls, “come on, breathe. Is this alright?”

Anduin’s answer is a confused mix of a nod and a shake, and Khadgar holds back a sigh, knowing it won’t help the situation. Instead, he kisses Anduin’s chest again, hands moving up and down his back in what he hopes is a calming manner. He wishes, once again, that their situation allowed Anduin to be able to express himself more clearly, but he also realizes that if he could, they would not be here today. Perhaps, if things had been different, they would have found themselves in a similar position under better circumstances, but things are the way they are, and there is nothing that either one of them can do about that, now. Especially not now.

Anduin shudders as he exhales. His fingers keep running through Khadgar’s hair, knotting it in ways that will be hell to untangle later. He slides his hands over Khadgar’s ears, his neck, his shoulders, and back up again.

“Lothar,” Khadgar calls softly again. “You have to let me do this. Remember? I have to.” Anduin’s head starts nodding. “_We_ have to.”

“Yeah,” Anduin whispers. “Yeah, ok, alright,” he says louder, his voice low and raspy.

He clears his throat and shifts so his feet are more firmly grounded, legs slightly apart. Khadgar moves as well, shuffling backwards on his knees. He has to balance himself with his hands on Anduin’s butt as he leans down, lips inches away from Anduin’s straining cock. It is a violent purple, messily leaking clear liquid. Khadgar can tell that Anduin won’t last for much longer but he knows the release is, at least for right now, more important for him than the process.

Before he starts again though, Khadgar interrogates Anduin with one gaze. Even though he looks apprehensive still, he smiles and nods again. Khadgar smiles warmly.

Deciding to go a little slower this time, for Anduin’s sake, Khadgar runs his tongue along the side of his dick, barely letting his lips touch the tight skin. Arriving at the base, he presses his lips right at the juncture, burying his nose in the dark hairs there. He sucks kisses into the skin and Anduin moans - a low, drawn-out noise, much more relaxed than any of the ones Khadgar’s has had the chance of hearing from him until now. Khadgar licks at the abused spot of skin before making his way down the shaft, pressing his tongue against the bulging vein underneath. The precum slides down his tongue and gathers at the back of his throat. When he reaches the tip, he closes his mouth around it, circles it with his tongue and then makes a point of swallowing.

Anduin’s hips buck forward uncontrollably. His hands tighten where they’ve settled, right hand on Khadgar’s neck, left on his shoulder, still covered with his shirt and jacket. The sudden pressure makes Khadgar gasp and loose his hold, Anduin’s cock sliding out. It swings upwards and hits his cheek. Khadgar laughs as his spit almost hits him in the eye. A sudden shudder travels from his nape down to his navel straight to his own cock, which is feeling more than a little dejected. Khadgar is so hard it almost hurts but he refuses to reach down and touch himself. Instead, he grabs hold of the base of Anduin’s cock, holding it steady, and swallows him down.

Anduin groans. His hands shift, left joining the right and circling Khadgar’s extended neck. As he bobs his head up and down Anduin’s cock, he feels the way his throat bulges with the intrusion. This, combined with the sharp pressure of Anduin’s fingers, sends tiny shots of pleasure through Khadgar’s body. His eyes are closed so tightly that he sees stars. He doesn’t know whether he is moving his head or Anduin his hips anymore. Every thrust burns like the best of alcohol, and Khadgar focuses on the sheer eroticism of the feeling rather than the ache he can feel settling in his abused jaw. 

Despite his best efforts to keep his mouth closed around Anduin’s shaft, drool drips from his chin, further facilitating the sharp thrusts in and out. Eventually though, Khadgar has to swallow. The movement of his throat seems to make Anduin’s cock slide even deeper down than previously, and Anduin suddenly stills. His grip on Khadgar’s neck becomes even tighter until it is near impossible for him to breathe. With one last thrust, Anduin comes, shuddering through his orgasm and moaning out Khadgar’s name.

Khadgar swallows as much of the cum as he is able. When Anduin pulls his spent cock out of his mouth, come and drool trickle out of Khadgar’s mouth, and he spits. Before he is able to properly catch his breath, strong hands slip under his shoulders and pull him to his feet. Anduin catches his lips in a searing kiss. His tongue explores all the places where his cock was pressing seconds ago. Khadgar winds his arms around Anduin’s neck, moaning.

His neglected cock is pressed in between their bodies, the wet drag and slide almost enough to push him over the edge. Their kiss turns into Anduin necking Khadgar, sucking his skin at the very juncture of his jaw and neck until Khadgar nearly screams. Anduin’s hand are pushing under his jacket, getting caught in the tight garment.

Khadgar takes a step back and rapidly unties his belt, removing his jerkin in the same movement. It all falls in a hump on the floor, and Khadgar kicks it out of the way. He is rushing, but he doesn’t have it in him to slow down anymore. He pulls his doublet and tunic over his head as one, and then unties his pants, which slide off quickly, and suddenly he is naked. Hit with a wave of sudden self-consciousness, Khadgar raises his head and looks at Anduin through his eyelashes. He is staring at him with a half smile on his lips, a little unsure himself, a little lost. Khadgar steps out of his pants and pushes them to one side. He grabs both Anduin’s hands and forcibly puts them onto his lower back. He melts against Anduin’s chest, kissing him.

Tentatively, Anduin starts stroking his backside, applying the lightest of pressure. Khadgar pushes back against his hands, urging him to be firmer. His kisses become more insistent too and yet Anduin manages to tame them down, imposing his own maddeningly slow pace. Khadgar groans against his mouth.

“What are you doing,” he mutters.

Anduin chuckles. He pulls away just far enough so that he is looking into Khadgar’s eyes. His hands cup his butt, thumbs brushing against his hips. Khadgar thrusts forward shallowly, pressure building low in his stomach. Anduin leans towards him again, forgoing his lips to suck kisses on his jaw. Khadgar hums appreciatively. He tightens his hold onto Anduin’s hips, wanting nothing more than to rut against him hotly. But Anduin tenses and doesn’t move, resisting the pull. Khadgar growls.

“Lothar,” he warns.

“Hm?” is the only answer he gets, the man not even bothering to stop what he is doing. His tongue slides down Khadgar’s neck, following his collar bone. When he reaches the hollow of Khadgar’s neck, he starts back up, leaving a wet trail behind. Khadgar squirms, trying to catch Anduin’s mouth but it keeps evading him. He shuffles his feet, stepping closer and yet it feels like Anduin’s warm body is still as far away from him. When he realizes Anduin has actually taken a step back, Khadgar clicks his tongue. He grabs Anduin by the jaw, pulling him away from his neck.

Khadgar presses a harsh kiss against Anduin’s mouth, scraping his teeth on Anduin’s bottom lip. He smirks when the action draws a shuddering gasp from Anduin. But instead of the expected reaction, which would have been along the lines of Anduin deepening the kiss and stepping closer, Anduin grabs both Khadgar’s wrists, pulling them away.

“Come on,” Khadgar urges, trying for yet another kiss.

“Slow down,” Anduin murmurs. He is drawing small circles on the inside of Khadgar’s wrists, dragging his lips, feather-light, across his cheekbones, atop his eyelids. It’s a new form of torture and Khadgar’s forgotten the question.

“Lothar,” he complains.

He gets shushed and it’s so unexpected that his mouth snaps shut and his eyes open. He stares at Anduin’s laughing eyes. Gently, Anduin raises his right wrist to his mouth, trailing light kisses on the inside of it. It makes Khadgar’s heart swell uncomfortably. Forcefully, Khadgar breaks free of Anduin’s hold and takes a step back, cradling his wrist.

“What are you playing at?” he asks accusingly.

“It’s alright,” Anduin says in a calming voice, reaching for Khadgar. “What’s the hurry?”

Khadgar huffs and gestures to his crotch. His erection pushes horizontally, the tip bobbing with every of Khadgar’s moves. He doesn’t have to look down to know his balls are pulled tight, growing an angry red.

“Oh that?” Anduin remarks lightly. Khadgar wants to strangle him. “Do you want me to do something about that?”

Eyes widening, Khadgar is all ready to retort, when he realizes Anduin’s choice of words. In spite of the nonchalant tone of voice, there is no denying the offer. Khadgar is suddenly struck with the myriad of possibilities that Anduin’s offering has just given him. He wonders whether Anduin really is aware of what he’s proposing. Khadgar won’t deny having selfish needs and fantasies, many of which have, since this thing of theirs has started, revolved around Anduin and the fulfillment of some of said needs. Without realizing, however, Khadgar had drawn a line in between asking Anduin for a kiss - something they’d both be able to enjoy - and his more selfish wants. What Anduin is offering, is to give Khadgar complete liberty of him, utter and total control. Head spinning at the implications, Khadgar turns away, unable to rationalize how upset he suddenly feels.

“Khadgar,” Anduin calls after him. He quickly walks towards him and wraps his arms around his torso, fitting his face into Khadgar’s shoulder. “It’s alright. It’s okay,” he murmurs. His hands roam across the expanse of Khadgar’s chest, ruffling the light grey hairs there that have started growing as soon as Medivh’s curse had hit him. His fingernails catch onto Khadgar’s nipples and Khadgar has to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning. “Tell me what you want,” Anduin asks, but Khadgar is already shaking his head. “We’ve come this far,” Anduin tells him, “come on. Please.”

Khadgar exhales shakily. Opening his eyes, he realizes they’re standing right in front of the mirror. He observes the sight, himself with his tired lines around his eyes, the deep wrinkles on his forehead, the grey spots of skin. His hair is almost entirely white now and his lips are cracked. His chest is covered in hair that don’t do much in hiding the fat gathering in his upper body, something he’s done his best to ignore, not wanting to address how uncomfortable it makes him feel. But even as he thinks that, Anduin’s hands come grasp at his breast, squeezing and scratching oh so lightly. Anduin presses a kiss onto his shoulder, then two, and then three.

Khadgar’s gaze shifts to Anduin, to his face which he knows so well. He looks more relaxed than Khadgar can ever remember seeing him. He still wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat, remembering Anduin’s twisted features and horrifying howl at Blackrock. The two faces seem to belong to two different men. Anduin opens his blue eyes and crosses Khadgar’s gaze reflected in the mirror. They stare at each other for a few breathless seconds. Eventually, Anduin straightens his back, moving his lips from Khadgar’s shoulder to just behind his ear. Anduin’s hands settle on his shoulders, with a patient sort of stillness. Khadgar’s breathing is fast and loud, pulse quickening He kisses and licks the skin behind Khadgar’s ear and whispers.

“Tell me what you want.”

A shiver travels from Khadgar’s nape down to his toes, shaking him to his core. His traitorous cock twitches wildly, slapping his thigh. Khadgar gasps.

“Touch me,” he growls.

But Anduin doesn’t move. If it wasn’t for the way his eyes widen and his fingers tighten momentarily, Khadgar would think he hasn’t even heard him. But he did hear - he’s just decided not to act. Fighting the rush of annoyance that threatens to overwhelm him, Khadgar closes his eyes, and focuses on his breathing. In spite of himself, he can’t help but admit how aroused all this is making him. His heightened state of excitation is only making Anduin’s stubbornness more infuriating.

“Loth-ah,” he starts saying, and the word turns into a low moan as Anduin starts nibbling at his earlobe. “Oh Light, you’re killing me.”

Anduin’s chuckle sends waves of shudders down his spine. Khadgar squirms in Anduin’s arms.

“I should hope not,” Anduin cleverly answers.

Khadgar opens his eyes and shoots him a glare that cannot properly express all his irritation. So instead, he twists in Anduin’s hold, not enough to face him, but just so he can bow his head and bite Anduin’s shoulder. Anduin inhales sharply. Smug, Khadgar turns back around, fitting his back against the other’s chest. Anduin leans forward until his mouth is on Khadgar’s nape again, each of his breath ruffling the short hairs at the base of his neck. Khadgar crosses Anduin’s gaze in the mirror and he smiles.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he asks. “I said. Touch. Me.”

There is a spark of _something_ in his eyes that fills Khadgar with trepidation. Softly, as if he is afraid he’ll actually hurt him, Anduin presses his teeth into the soft flesh of his shoulder, a gentle reciprocation of Khadgar’s own action. 

“I am touching you,” Anduin murmurs.

Khadgar breathes out through his mouth, momentarily winded by the pure impertinence of the words. Anduin’s hands are firmly clasped onto his shoulders, now preventing him from moving. Khadgar rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck so as to give easier access to Anduin’s lips.

“Kiss my neck, then,” he finally orders.

He barely has the time to catch Anduin’s smirk before he presses his lips into his skin, peppering feather light kisses all along his neck and left shoulder.

“Aah,” Khadgar moans as Anduin trails his mouth up his carotid and lingers just momentarily on a tender spot near the ear , “right there.”

Light kisses turn into lips pressing firmly into the skin, warm breath ghosting down his neck. Each nip draws a moan out of Khadgar. Soon enough tongue joins lips and starts sucking the delicate flesh. When Anduin starts pulling at it with his teeth, Khadgar’s eyes shoot open as his mouth falls agape on a soundless moan. The sight that welcomes him in the mirror is one of the most erotic he’s been given the chance to see: himself, cheeks burning red, wet lips open, rolling his head so as to let Anduin complete liberty over his neck, and Anduin, whose eyes are closed, so entirely focused on the task of sucking and nibbling on his skin… In his current state, it’s almost more than Khadgar can take.

“Oh Light,” he whines. “Lothar, please…”

At the sound of his name, Anduin opens his eyes and stares straight at Khadgar in the mirror. Although his lips keep on sucking, it is clear that he is standing at attention, waiting for Khadgar to speak. It makes his head spin deliciously, to know that such a powerful, gorgeous man is ready to wait on hands and knees for him, to jump into action as soon as he voices his needs, his wants. His legs buckle but Anduin’s strong arms keep him upwards. Khadgar is breathing so fast he is pretty sure he will stop breathing soon, unless something comes break him out of this insane tension.

“Touch me…” His voice breaks but he keeps going, knowing what Anduin wants to hear so that Khadgar gets what he is asking for, “touch my cock…” 

As soon as the words are out, Anduin’s hands are sliding downwards, down his back and over his hips and _dipping_ -

But Khadgar keeps talking, voice barely above a whisper, caught between moans and gasps, “please, wrap your hand around me,” he doesn’t even know what he is saying anymore, only knows that the closer Anduin’s right hand gets to his aching cock, the harder they stare at each other’s eyes, caught in the most exquisite of staring games. “Please, take me in your hand, stroke me…”

Anduin’s fingers wrap around his cock and “squeeze, yes,” Anduin instinctively knowing just how much pressure Khadgar desires. His other hand grabs Khadgar’s thigh and starts kneading the plump flesh. Uncontrollably, Khadgar rocks backwards into Anduin’s crotch. Anduin’s own cock is firming up again, sliding against Khadgar’s ass. Anduin moans deeply, the sound joining Khadgar’s own small gasps as they echo in the morning silence.

“Yeah, come on, rock against me,” Khadgar pants.

Anduin bites into his shoulder and there’s nothing gentle about it anymore. He starts rutting against his ass, cock thrusting in between his butt cheeks and under his ass. His hand starts pumping Khadgar’s dick in rhythm. And still, their gazes stay locked on each other’s. Words fall from Khadgar’s lips in cascade, each slide of Anduin’s hands sending his mind for a twirl.

“Yeah, yes, oh Light, feels so good…”

Anduin tightens his hold around his cock, and Khadgar gasps.

“Yes, harder, like that, fuck-”

Anduin shifts, pushing Khadgar’s feet apart so his erection can slide in between his thighs more smoothly, helped by the sweat and the precum from both their cocks. But even with that natural moisture, the drag of Anduin’s dick burns Khadgar’s thighs, and it’s the best kind of discomfort. From this angle, his cock thrusts deeper and its tip hits the back of Khadgar’s balls, sending toe-curling shots of pleasure throughout Khadgar’s body.

Anduin’s left hand leaves his hip and drifts upwards, squeezing his hip before continuing its trek up to Khadgar’s stomach. Anduin’s fingertips ghost over his skin and his stomach jumps and tenses. Khadgar thrusts erratically into his fist. His eyes are watering but he can’t look away from Anduin’s eyes.

“Oh Light, Lothar - feels so… Yeah, just like that… oh my, I’m gonna - I’m gonna -”

With a choked out gasp, Khadgar rips Anduin’s hand away from his cock. The sudden lack of stimulation is physically painful, but Khadgar forces himself to breathe through his nose and calm down. Anduin looks shocked. Khadgar turns around and kisses him, a deep, wet kiss that makes them stumble backwards slightly.

“To the bed,” Khadgar groans, “now.”

He pushes on Anduin’s chest. He laughs bemusedly but still goes willingly. He grabs Khadgar’s forearms as he backs off, pulling him with. He stops when his calfs hit the bed. There’s a second during which he is sure that Khadgar will push him backwards onto the mattress but Khadgar simply strokes his chest, squeezing his breasts, brushing his thumb over his hard nipples. Anduin shivers.

“Lay down,” Khadgar asks, so very gently.

Anduin feels for the bed behind him and lowers himself slowly on it. It is covered by a soft wool blanket for which he is grateful as he lies his naked body across it. Khadgar’s eyes roam over him as he settles more comfortably, stretching his limbs across the wide expanse of the bed. He leans back on his elbows, head raised so as to still see Khadgar clearly. He is licking his lips, apparently unconsciously, as he admires Anduin’s body spread out for him. It triggers in Anduin a peculiar sense of shame, wanting to hide his imperfections under the blanket, while the sheer awe that paints itself on Khadgar’s face fills him with satisfaction. There’s pride in being able, at his age, to render speechless a man twenty years younger than him. But Anduin doesn’t want to think about all this anymore: he hooks his heels behind Khadgar’s knees, prompting him forward.

Khadgar lets himself fall, rather than actually being imbalanced. He places his knees on either side of Anduin’s hips, his hands near his head. A smile plays on his lips before he leans down and kisses Anduin. He pulls Anduin’s bottom lip with his teeth, drawing a content moan out of him. Anduin spreads his hands on Khadgar’s waist, feels Khadgar’s breath hitch at the touch, despairs at the way he can feel each of Khadgar’s ribs under his hands. Wrapped as he usually is in his many layered clothing, his chubby cheeks could fool anyone into thinking he is quite healthy. But now, stripped bare, and with Anduin’s wide hands curling around his ribs, there is no missing the fact he hasn’t been eating enough, and it shows. To drown the wave of gloom that washes over him, Anduin chases after Khadgar’s lips, kissing him soundly. Khadgar responds enthusiastically, so much so that Anduin finds himself pressed into the mattress. Khadgar’s scent overwhelms him, his heat surrounds him and he finds himself craving more.

“Khadgar-” he chokes out one moment they part for air.

“Scoot up,” Khadgar orders at the exact same time.

Without protest, Anduin pushes himself upwards on the bed until his head hits a pillow. Khadgar shuffles forward on his knees, stretching his lithe upper body. Anduin fits his hands on his legs and pulls him forward. As Khadgar resettles, his butt brushes against Anduin’s awakening cock and he pushes downward on instinct. Anduin’s eyes widen as a groan escapes him. Khadgar smirks.

“Hands off.”

With a mockingly disappointed sigh, Anduin complies, laying his hands flat on the bed. He doesn’t know what Khadgar has in mind, but he does know that, whatever it is, he won’t be able to keep his hands so still for very long. But if it pleases Khadgar for now, then he will obey.

Khadgar shifts so that he can rise up on his knees. Thanks to the pillow, Anduin’s head is slightly elevated, giving him a perfect view of the other’s body. He lets his gaze follow the long lines of Khadgar’s muscles, his jutting hip bones, his fluttering stomach. His brown eyes are almost black, pupils wide. He is backlit by the morning sun, looking majestic as he looms over Anduin, whose whole body quivers at the thought that he is willingly putting himself at the mercy of the younger man. Although Anduin can’t say that he feels so much older, and it isn’t only due to Khadgar’s physical appearance. From their first meeting, he’d felt much more as if he had met an equal in the mage, even if he was still inexperienced in life. War and loss had completed Khadgar’s training and wisened him beyond his years. He knew the mage would forever refuse the title of Guardian, but Anduin knew that he had earned it in the eyes of many already. In many more ways than one, Khadgar was already a better Guardian than Medivh ever had been.

All those thoughts are violently pushed out of Anduin’s head as Khadgar leans over him, one hand on the bed supporting him, and reaches behind himself with the other. Anduin’s breath gets caught in his throat. He watches as Khadgar spreads his hand on his own backside and carefully reaches down and between his buttocks. Khadgar groans as he starts pushing one finger inside himself. Without realizing, Anduin raises his hands to hold him.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Khadgar admonishes him, “hands off.”

Anduin purses his lips and Khadgar winks at him. Breathing out slowly, Anduin raises his arms above his head and slips his hands underneath his head, effectively trapping them. A he readjusts his position, his crotch rises and brushes against Khadgar’s and a low moan escapes Khadgar’s mouth. His eyes slide shut and he has to restrain himself from bucking his hips forward as he slips his finger even deeper inside.

The intrusion is uncomfortable, stretching and burning at his most intimate. It excites him, though, as he can already imagine what it will feel like to have Anduin’s cock sliding into him, filling him. Khadgar has never been penetrated, has never quite felt comfortable enough with anyone he’d gone to bed with for it to even be an option. He had, on a few occasions, had the opportunity to experience what it was like to enter a man in that way and some part of him has always been curious to be on the other end. He had experimented with penetration while pleasuring himself but he aches to know what it will feel like to have someone’s cock pushing into him. The anticipation is making his breath come out in shallow, quick pants, which only get more halting as he pushes the finger further. 

Anduin stirs under him and he opens his eyes. Anduin’s eyebrows are scanted downward.

“Wait,” Anduin says, pulling his hand from under his head, and strokes Khadgar’s arm, “don’t you have anything to make this easier?”

Khadgar blinks.

“Like what?”

“Lotion, or oil.” Anduin puts his hand on Khadgar’s hip and gently pushes him off. Khadgar moves, sitting cross legged on the bed as Anduin shuffles to the edge.

“Hum,” Khadgar ponders, “there’s some oil in that shelf over there.”

Anduin stands up and walks over to Khadgar’s desk area. The actual desk is covered in papers and books and vials, experiments in various stages of completion, stacks of notes scattered messily. It doesn’t look totally safe, so Anduin gives it a wide berth, going straight for the shelves near it. They are filled top to bottom with ingredients mixed in with books. Near unreadable scrawls indicate what each vial and bottle contains. Anduin picks one that reads “Blackmouth Oil.”

He comes back to the bed and shows it to Khadgar.

“Is this safe?” he asks dubiously.

“Should be,” Khadgar shrugs, grabbing the bottle. He examines the label then unscrews the bottle and takes a sniff.

Anduin scoffs.

“If you say so. It’s your asshole,” he smirks.

Khadgar squints at him and sticks out his tongue. On impulse, Anduin dives in and captures Khadgar’s tongue in his mouth, sucking it. Khadgar yelps and recoils sharply. He immediately relaxes however and leans in for a kiss. He rises on his knees and wraps his arms around Anduin’s neck, humming contentedly.

All of a sudden, he pulls back, sliding one hand behind Anduin’s head, and he pulls.

“Back on the bed,” he growls, and the sound travels like lightning to Anduin’s crotch. “Lie down.”

It takes them only a couple of seconds to go back to their previous position, Anduin’s hands under his head as he lies still on the mattress, Khadgar kneeling over him. Khadgar spreads a generous amount of the oil on his hand, coating his fingers with it. The smell is pungent and it covers the scent of sweat and arousal that’s permeated the room. They both wrinkle their nose and chuckle goodnaturedly.

As soon as Khadgar reaches for his backside again and slips one finger swiftly in his asshole, they sober up. Khadgar shudders as his lubed up finger slides right inside. His hole clenches to accommodate the intrusion but it doesn’t feel as painful as previously. It feels so alien that he isn’t sure whether to whimper or moan, or both, and so his mouth falls open silently. Anduin lets out a long groan at the sight of Khadgar’s shock. Fighting against the urge to reach up with his hands, a huge shiver shakes his body, concentrating on his crotch. He bucks upwards, his cock thrusting in between Khadgar’s legs and against his balls, towards his hole.

“Light, Lothar,” Khadgar breathes out, “be patient.”

He doesn’t have it in him to answer anything, so instead he pushes upwards again, his hard cock sliding slowly against Khadgar’s butt. Khadgar’s gaze hardens and flashes blue, so fast that Anduin almost doesn’t see it. He finds himself suddenly stuck, limbs immobilized by some invisible force and his hips are firmly grounded to the bed. Anduin chokes out a bewildered laugh that is soon interrupted by Khadgar diving and kissing him. On instinct, Anduin tries to raise his hands so that he can angle Khadgar’s head but he is very efficiently incapacitated. He groans in displeasure and Khadgar pulls away. His smirk grates on Anduin’s nerves but his words send shivers down his spine.

“Be good,” he whispers.

Repositioning himself, Khadgar proceeds to fuck himself with the one finger, experimentally sliding it in and out. When he feels ready, he starts adding another. His mouth falls open on a silent cry as the second finger breaches his entrance. It turns into a loud moan when he stretches the walls of his anus with every millimeter of progress. Anduin’s mouth waters at the sound and he swallows so as not to start actually drooling.

As he starts inserting a third finger, Khadgar’s thighs start shivering uncontrollably, and he falls forward. He braces himself with his forearm above Anduin’s head. He breathes hot air into Anduin’s mouth, whose limited range of movement only permit him to turn his head and capture Khadgar’s lips into a deep kiss. From this point of contact, he can feel Khadgar thrusting his fingers deeper and deeper into himself and it makes something hot uncoil in his gut. 

Khadgar’s gasping and moaning against his mouth. The arm which is holding him up is trembling violently. When a particularly strong spike of pleasure hits him, he cries out and his arm gives under him. He leans to the left to avoid falling onto Anduin. Instead, he presses his face into the pillow, his left side leaning into Anduin, warm and slick with sweat.

When the wave of pleasure has subsided, Khadgar doesn’t lose any time to push himself up again, rising to his knees. He is still three fingers deep inside himself and with a moan, he pulls them out. Anduin’s gaze travel down his chest to his crotch and he licks his lips as he sees Khadgar’s erect cock, flushed red and gleaming. No longer having to hold himself up as he stands on his knees, Khadgar runs his hand through his hair, brushing it back. Eyes half lidded, he watches Anduin, who is still bound by whatever spell Khadgar’s put on him. 

Khadgar shifts so he is standing above Anduin’s stomach. Anduin’s cock tightens painfully as the movement brings some much needed friction. He lets out a low moan. Khadgar’s hands travel up his arms, fingers pressing into the tight muscles. Fighting against the binding spell, Anduin can feel the veins of his neck bulging and he is huffing rapidly, desperate to be released. He longs to be free, to be able to touch Khadgar, spread his hands on the man’s chest, bring him closer. 

“Light, Lothar,” Khadgar whispers. “I need you inside me.”

Khadgar grabs Anduin’s cock and, without more of a warning, positions himself so that he can sink onto it. Anduin’s vision whites out as his cock is surrounded by Khadgar’s tight heat. Khadgar stops midway, having to catch his breath and accommodate for the width that his fingers had barely prepared him for. Under him, Anduin’s breaths have turned into small whines as he is prevented from thrusting his hips like he desperately wants to. Khadgar chuckles breathlessly. He moves his hand up until he is cupping Anduin’s cheek and caresses it.

“You alright there?” he asks.

Anduin nods eagerly, beyond words. Khadgar shifts his hand, brushes his thumb on Anduin’s bottom lip, which quivers, before he slides it into Anduin’s mouth. Anduin welcomes it openly, tongue licking around the thumb, teeth gently nipping into the skin.

“Good,” Khadgar comments, “very good.”

Taking a deep breath in, he starts lowering himself again. They both moan, the sound echoing around the room. It’s a tantalizing few seconds for Anduin, as Khadgar carefully descends upon his cock, and it feels at the same time as if he’ll never reach deep enough and as if he’s an endless pit and Anduin’s just going to plunge in him forever. When Khadgar finally sinks down and Anduin’s cock is entirely surrounded by heat, Khadgar’s walls convulsing around it, it’s as much a relief as a whole new kind of torture. It’s too much, too soon - too tight, too warm, too close, too _good_ and Khadgar looks as if the pain will never subside.

But it isn’t the pain that is making him grimace, but rather the waves upon waves of intense pleasure he derives from being penetrated. It’s overwhelming and it takes him a few long seconds to find his bearings again. When he does, he gasps, taking in a much needed intake of air. He opens his eyes and finds Anduin’s gaze, which is looking him over worriedly. He cracks a smile, that Anduin returns, albeit tentatively.

Khadgar moves his hands from Anduin’s face to his shoulders, using them as leverage. Very carefully, he rises his hips, feeling the burn as Anduin’s cock starts pulling out of him, and then, he abruptly drops back down. Anduin’s groan is overshadowed by Khadgar’s gasp of pain, and Anduin immediately swears.

“Khadgar,” he grits out, “are you ok.”

Khadgar nods fiercely, biting his lip. As slowly as before, he rises, and this time, lowers himself as gently. He feels every bit of Anduin’s cock as it breaches him open for the third time, the way his muscles convulse and contract around it. Although the pain had considerably dampened his arousal, now, his cock is filling again. As the tip of Anduin’s erection strokes at a particularly sensitive spot inside him, Khadgar lets out a long, loud moan.

“Oh, Light, Khadgar,” Anduin groans. “You feel so good, oh, Khad- gar!”

Anduin’s speech devolves into unintelligible gibberish, half moans, half whispers, as his eyes close tightly. Khadgar laughs, the sound croaky and breathless. He rises and falls again, slightly faster this time, the movement made easier by his accustomed muscles, the helpful lubricant, and Anduin’s cock leaking liquid.

He rises- 

“Keep,” he tries saying, but has to swallow and lick his dry lips before trying again: “Keep talking. Lothar-”

And falls. Anduin’s eyes are so wide, full of wonder. He licks his lips, copying Khadgar’s movement, and Khadgar would kiss him if he didn’t fear breaking the angle he’s worked so painfully at getting. He begins rocking over Anduin, rising and falling at a rapidly increasing speed, hands steadily anchored on Anduin’s shoulders. 

“Love this, Light, Khadgar, love you, you feel so good, so tight around me,” Khadgar’s moans are getting increasingly louder as Anduin stumbles over his words. Anduin’s speech gets more and more jumbled as Khadgar increases, not only the speed, but the range of his sway, moving higher and dropping even more sharply each time.

His fingers tighten on Anduin’s shoulders and he is suddenly hit with the need to leave a mark there, an urge that knocks the breath out of him and leaves him flabbergasted. He falls down heavily, driving Anduin’s cock ever deeper inside him. Anduin grunts and lets out a discomfited groan when Khadgar just- stops.

“...Khadgar?” he asks.

He doesn’t answer, instead tracing his fingers in random patterns across the smooth expanse of Anduin’s shoulder, pressing into the skin, with just a hint of fingernail. Careful not to dislodge himself from his seat, he leans forward, having to close his eyes against the powerful onslaught of pleasure that results from the change of angle, and fits his mouth onto Anduin’s shoulder. He kisses it gently, at first, becoming more and more insistent, his teeth joining in without his willing them, until he is sucking at the soft flesh and Anduin’s breathing is so quick and shallow he might pass out. When Khadgar is satisfied, he pulls back and watches as the reddened skin glimmers wetly, turning purple after Khadgar’s abuse. Anduin is staring back at him in shock, eyes darkened by arousal and something deeper, much more meaningful. Khadgar smiles softly, and Anduin actually _whimpers_.

Khadgar shifts his knees so that he can keep leaning over Anduin. From this new angle, it is possible for him to both rock against Anduin and kiss him, and so he does just that. He imposes a steady rhythm, rocking back and forth onto Anduin’s cock, and catching each and every one of his gasps with his mouth. Words fight their ways from Anduin’s throat, as he desperately tries to answer Khadgar’s kisses in kind but he is way too far gone for that kind of coordination.

“Please, oh Light, right here, like that, please, right- there- Khadgar-”

Behind his closed eyelids, Khadgar sees fireworks as Anduin’s cock reaches that spot inside him over and over again. His movements are becoming more and more jittery as he loses his focus. The orgasm hits him suddenly, with almost no warning at all, except the sudden warmth that spreads throughout his stomach before he is drowning in the feeling. He cries out in pleasure, managing to heft himself and fall back down a couple of times more before he collapses on top of Anduin. His come is warm and sticky against his stomach where it has spilt over Anduin’s chest.

All of a sudden, Anduin is free to move, and he doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around Khadgar, slips his fingers in his hair and pulls his head backwards sharply. He kisses him soundly, Khadgar answering as best as he can as he regains some awareness of his surroundings. Anduin’s hips seem to have a mind of their own as, having been given back their right to move, they start bucking up wildly. His cock slips in and out of Khadgar’s loosened asshole, each thrust inwards dragging little spurts of pleasure out of Khadgar.

With an animalistic grunt, Anduin flips them over. Khadgar’s back hits the mattress sharply. The movement has made Anduin’s cock slip out of him and he bites back a whine at the loss. Anduin’s hands are grabbing his thighs and pulling him down before he’s had the chance to fully register the change in position, anyway, that he doesn’t have to mourn for long. With one hand under his back for support, and the other on his thigh, Anduin steadies them both for penetration. His cock slides in easily, finding Khadgar’s sweet spot. Anduin begins thrusting back and forth, letting go of his control as he lets his deepest desires run free.

Soon enough, Khadgar’s cock is twitching painfully, too spent to actually get hard again, but his prostate is being stimulated with every thrust of Anduin’s hips. They hit Khadgar’s backside with a loud and wet sound in time with their moans and it, along with the strong smell, makes Khadgar’s head swim. Anduin thrusts wildly into him now, his cock a long and hard pressure along his spine. He must be so close and yet he is slowing down, his grasp on Khadgar’s thigh slipping, and Khadgar cracks his eyes open. Anduin is kissing him almost as soon as they cross gazes and Khadgar winds his arms around Anduin’s neck, pulling him closer. Anduin’s thrusts have turned lazy but his limbs are trembling, a testament as to how close he is to release.

Khadgar reaches behind him and grabs a pillow, slipping it under his back for support.

“Grab my legs,” he whispers to Anduin, “pull them up on your shoulders.”

Anduin does, his face once again expressing all the wonderment he feels towards Khadgar. He fits Khadgar’s legs over his shoulders and smooths his hands down their length until he can grab his hips. Khadgar’s feet press into his back, pulling him in. Anduin slips one hand in between them and grabs his cock, positioning himself. He pushes in slowly, not wanting for this to end too quickly, but he knows that, no matter his best efforts, he will not last long. He begins thrusting deeply, pulling out almost completely before pushing in again, and again, and again. Khadgar is tracing lazy patterns on the back of his nape, arms outstretched, and his eyes are half-lidded, fighting to stay open. Anduin leans down and kisses him.

“Hm, _Anduin_,” Khadgar whispers.

Anduin’s hips jolt forward, making Khadgar cry out in half pain half pleasure. Khadgar doesn’t seem to have noticed his slip-up but Anduin has: overwhelmed with tenderness for the man underneath him, he starts fucking him in quick, sharp thrusts. Khadgar’s feet are two sharp points on his back, his thighs shiver with exhaustion, and his fingers tighten on Lothar’s nape. Feeling the pressure building, Anduin pulls out and wraps a hand around himself, tightening his fist on his hard cock and he pumps. His eyes catch Khadgar’s, that are flickering in between his face and his crotch, looking mesmerized, and it’s too much.

With a choked out cry, Anduin comes, the white liquid spattering across Khadgar’s stomach and up his chest, reaching his chin. Anduin’s eyes close as he rides out his orgasm. It stutters out of him in strong waves and with one last shiver, he falls backwards on his heels.

Khadgar’s legs slip from his shoulders, spreading on either side of him. Both their breathing are laborious and the only sounds now echoing in the strangely quiet room. When Anduin opens his eyes again, he crosses Khadgar’s gaze. Khadgar smirks and Anduin answers with a chuckle. He is yet again filled with a fondness he hasn’t felt in so long that he just cannot find it in him to fight it. Anduin pushes himself forward, leaning down until he is kissing Khadgar. Their kiss is slow, lazy, measured. Khadgar’s fingers twist in Anduin’s long hair and Anduin strokes Khadgar’s cheek.

Anduin lets his head fall forward, fitting it in the crook of Khadgar’s neck. He breathes in the strong, salty scent of him, and exhales slowly. Khadgar shifts and pulls the pillow from underneath him, putting it under his head instead. He puts a hand on Anduin’s hip and pushes lightly. Anduin obeys the silent command and tumbles to the side. He sprawls on his side on the bed, one arm wrapped around Khadgar’s chest, face on his shoulder. He can feel Khadgar’s breaths on his hair as they slow down, can hear Khadgar’s heartbeat. It’s such a pretty sound he could weep.

Khadgar’s hand seems to naturally find its way back into his hair, smoothing it down, working the knots out of it. Anduin’s eyes slip shut and he hums appreciatively.

“You okay?” Khadgar whispers.

Anduin smiles. Even if he can’t see it, Khadgar can feel the pull of his facial muscle against his chest and it brings a smile to his own lips.

“Yes,” Anduin answers simply. “You?” he asks, turning his head so that he can look at Khadgar.

“Yes,” he answers in kind.

Anduin settles his head back onto his shoulder and they simply lay there in silence for long minutes. Anduin is half-asleep when Khadgar shifts and pulls away. Anduin moves his arm to allow him to move and he turns on his back, opening his eyes to watch him. Khadgar scoots to the edge of the bed and stands up. He stretches, the sun accentuating the shadows of his ribs showing through his skin. Anduin frowns but decides to let it slide for now - besides, he is way too satisfied to want to have this conversation now. He does however make a mental note to bring it up to Khadgar later. He really shouldn’t be skipping meals like he knows he has had in the past few months.

Khadgar moves out of his field of vision and returns with a bath towel. He is already wiping his own skin clean of come and sweat. He climbs unto the bed and shuffles his knees until he is close to Anduin. He swipes Lothar’s cock and his chest, eventually reaching his face. He wipes the towel on his neck and then discards it. He cradles Anduin’s face and leans down to press a sweet kiss atop his lips.

“Wait here,” he enjoins. 

Anduin turns his head and follows Khadgar with his gaze as he gets up again and circles the bed. He approaches the low dresser set next the door. He starts ruffling through one of the drawers. Anduin catches sight of a few colorful pieces of fabric and he frowns, intrigued.

When he finally finds something that satisfies him, Khadgar turns around with a mischievous smile. He is holding a thin purple ribbon, smoothing it down and twisting it around his fingers. Lothar cocks an eyebrow in his direction but Khadgar simply shakes his head. 

Walking towards the bed again, Khadgar climbs back on and walks on his knees towards Lothar. He swings his leg over Anduin and settles on his thighs. He is still playing with the ribbon. It looks like silk, catching the light and shimmering with every twist and turn that Khadgar subjects it to. Anduin forces himself to breathe deeply and slowly, not wanting to let his apprehension show.

Khadgar eventually raises his head and stares straight at him. He is worrying his lip, in deep thought, his head tipped slightly to the left. He looks strangely like a bird and Anduin has to bite down a smile. His heart is beating uncomfortably strongly in his chest.

Anduin doesn’t resist when Khadgar reaches and grabs his left arm, pulling it upwards and towards him. He strokes it, turning it so his hand is facing upwards. His fingers brush against his palm, drawing small circles on it, and then sliding up and down each of his fingers. It’s the lightest touch and it tickles Anduin’s palm. Khadgar’s face stays impassive throughout the whole process. Anduin smiles.

After a moment of this ritual, Khadgar pulls Anduin’s arm even farther and brings his palm to his lips. He presses a soft kiss into it. When he releases his arm, Anduin keeps his hand in place, stroking Khadgar’s cheek gently. He is rewarded by a small smile that makes a warmth spread slowly throughout his chest.

Swiftly, Khadgar circles Anduin’s wrist with the ribbon, twice so as not to let too much of the length hanging, and then ties it. Anduin raises his eyebrows in question. Khadgar smoothes out the fabric on Anduin’s skin and then, as an afterthought, ties a second knot to make it more secure.

“There,” he says quietly once he is done.

Anduin shakes his head bemusedly.

“What is this for?” he asks. He is surprised by how raw his voice sounds and he has to clear his throat. 

Khadgar is still smiling softly, looking like a painting, beautiful and nostalgic.

“To remind you of me,” he says. “When you’re away.”

Anduin’s eyes widen and his breath hitches. He closes his hand in his fist near Khadgar’s face. He stares at the ribbon, the dark purple of it a stark contrast against the inside of his wrist, so white and unmarred. Very slowly - so slowly in fact, that he believes it is a trick of his mind at first - the fabric starts glowing, faintly at first but then brighter and brighter until it is almost too bright to look at directly. Anduin looks back at Khadgar in shock.

The mage is whispering words too low for Anduin to hear but there is no doubt now that he is responsible for the glowing ribbon. When he stops whispering, the glowing subsides until the ribbon is back to its original purple plain color.

“How’d you do that?” Anduin marvels.

“Magic,” Khadgar whispers, widening his eyes mockingly.

Anduin barks out a laugh, which sounds more bewildered than he would like to admit. He brings his arm closer to his own face, examining the way the fabric clings to his skin. He brushes his fingers against it, feeling how soft it is. Carefully, he tests out the strength of the knots, worried that it’ll fall off easily. It holds and, satisfied, Anduin finishes his observation. He lays both hands on Khadgar’s thighs and gives them a squeeze.

“Thank you,” he says, hoping to convey how genuine he is through his eyes and gestures.

Khadgar is staring at him, a very small smile playing on his lips. Anduin longs to know what he is thinking about but he is scared of asking. Khadgar has that far away look that he sometimes gets, too, when they are together in the library, usually after they’ve chatted mindlessly, but before they’ve shifted into this thing of theirs.

Suddenly, it hits Anduin that they having sex today will most likely change things between them. He wonders whether Khadgar will still give him orders like he has started being used to, whether Khadgar will still accept his presence in the library from now on, or if he’ll consider him to be too much of a distraction. He wonders, illogically, whether Khadgar will want to do this again or whether this is when he’ll draw the line, and refuse to see or even talk to him anymore. He knows, of course, that even if that were Khadgar’s feelings, he would not be able to shut Anduin out, what with their official capacities as King Regent and mage consult. But it is early morning still, Anduin is worn out from having sex, and the last thirty-six hours without any sleep are definitely catching up to him - and he is tired, simply. So as soon as the idea has planted its seed in his head, he cannot do anything to prevent it from growing roots and springing up branches and leaves. 

Some of his anguish must have shown on his face because Khadgar suddenly frowns and then shifts forward, carefully putting his elbows on either side of Lothar’s chest and leaning his chin on his folded wrists. He levels a calculating gaze on Anduin, who can only blink, and swallow past the uncomfortable lump in his throat.

“Lothar,” Khadgar voices, strict and steady.

Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held, Anduin whispers:

“Anduin.”

Khadgar’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead and he makes a questioning hum.

“Say my name,” Anduin pleads. “Not Lothar. Not anymore.”

Khadgar’s blush is contagious but Anduin refuses to back down and keeps his gaze firmly set on Khadgar’s.

“I-” Khadgar chokes.

“_Khadgar_,” Lothar insists, his voice hardening just the slightest bit.

Khadgar closes his eyes tightly and breathes in and out slowly. When he opens them again, he looks resigned, but when he speaks, he sounds more relieved than anything.

“Anduin…”

Anduin smiles and reaches up, pulling Khadgar’s head down. They kiss slowly, lips sliding against lips. It feels like a promise. Khadgar lets his mouth slide down Lothar’s chin and his head fall forward. He lays his head on Anduin’s shoulder, lying down on top of him. Their bodies are touching everywhere - shin to shin, thigh to thigh, chest to chest. They breathe in unison, slow rise to slow fall, in and out.

In… and out.

Eventually, Anduin shifts under Khadgar, and he slides off him. Without saying a word, they shuffle towards the head of the bed. Anduin rises the sheet and Khadgar slips underneath. Anduin joins him, pressing his body along the long warm line of Khadgar’s. Khadgar’s hands find his hips and squeeze. Anduin wraps his arms around him, holding him close. He presses a kiss atop his head. Khadgar hums.

“Sleep, now, love,” Anduin whispers.

Outside, the sun shines and reflects off the snowy mountaintops, inundating the room with light. It does not prevent either of them from falling into a deep slumber in minutes, however.

As he sleeps, Khadgar dreams of soft lips, strong arms, and impossibly blue eyes. His fingers tighten unconsciously on Anduin’s hips and his magic slips out of control. He mumbles against Anduin’s neck before falling into an even deeper sleep. Anduin sleeps on, unaware.

When Khadgar wakes, he is disoriented for a moment as the world outside is pitch black. He is alone. He sits up and pats the bed, finding it disappointingly empty. He shivers as the night has brought in the cold. Wrapping his arms around his knees, Khadgar focuses on his breathing, willing himself not to cry. Anduin has gone again, he knows, but for how long is a mystery. It doesn’t matter though. Quietly, he starts mouthing the words he had spent the past week figuring out. 

A thousand of miles away, on a boat in the middle of the sea, Anduin sighs. He is standing naked in front of the full body mirror in his cabin. He strokes his fingers against his hip, where a conspicuously violet mark tints the white skin. It looks like the imprint of someone’s hand, and Anduin scoffs. As he is watching the mark in the mirror, his eyes catch on a glimmer.

The ribbon around his wrist starts glowing, brightening by the second. Anduin’s chest fills with warmth at the sight. He brings his wrist up to his mouth and presses his mouth to the ribbon, willing for the kiss to travel the distance back to Khadgar.

Back in Stormwind, Khadgar smiles, as the words fall like a prayer from his lips.

_Come back to me,_ it says.

“I will,” Anduin whispers in the silence of his cabin.

The ship keeps rocking on the calm sea, taking him farther and farther away from Stormwind’s harbour. But for the first time in a long time, Anduin doesn’t feel the heartache that usually assault him the minute Stormwind’s colorful walls slip out of sight. Instead, he feels more anchored than ever. The ribbon wraps around his wrist tightly, like a caress, like an embrace. Anduin welcomes it gratefully.

_I will._


	4. Interlude: Liqueurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin is away on a mission, and Khadgar misses him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flings*

**Liqueurs**, noun, French for _liquors_, plural: fruit or plant-based alcoholic beverage, usually sweet with a high percentage of alcohol, derived from fermentation and distillation; more broadly, any alcoholic drink.

The door closes behind Khadgar with a dull click. He sighs quietly into the dark room. As he shuffles his feet towards the bed, he starts ridding himself of his clothes. They stick to his skin, damp with sweat. Summer has settled over the city like a lead weight and, unfortunately, Khadgar was forced today to step out of the cool stone halls of Stormwind Keep to push through the streets and reach the Mage’s Tower. The heat at the top of the tower was barely bearable, especially with the many layers that the mages are required to wear as their uniform. It makes Khadgar sorely miss when he had been a runaway from the Kirin Tor, although, unfamiliar with other types of dress, he still had emulated the Dalarani style in his chosen outfit.

The heavy purple coat slides easily to the floor, then the robes, and finally his trousers and his shift. Finally naked, he slumps face down onto the bed. A groan escapes him, muffled by the sheet and mattress under him. He turns his head and stares into the darkness. He wants nothing more than to simply slip underneath the covers and settle comfortably for sleep. However, a deep heat low in his belly is awakening, now he is finally alone and idle.

He sighs as the heat spreads. He turns over on the covers, spreading out his limbs. His hands wander down, stroking his chest, eliciting shivers. His body reacts immediately to the stimuli and what was simmering suddenly is boiling over. He aches and his cock is filling up way too rapidly. He could quickly stroke himself and bring himself over, only bothering to wipe himself with his shirt before falling into a deep slumber. He has other ideas, though, about how the evening might go.

He whispers the words into the silent night, tastes them like honey on his lips. They’re familair, habit even at this point. That isn't necessarily a pleasant thought, though it's reassuring in a way. He feels the words stretching out into the dark, becoming tangible as his arcane restructures himself around the spell and then shoots out in search of its target. It takes a moment - minutes maybe, but Khadgar is way too focused on the reaching arcane to truly notice how much time has passed - before it finds what it is looking for. But the moment it is spotted, the arcane thread immediately plunges and wraps itself tightly around it.

Khadgar can only imagine what Anduin feels at that moment - a pull, or a squeeze, maybe his heat travel along with his magic, reaching across ocean and earth to wrap around Anduin as a warm cloak. He hopes so even as his conscience becomes aware of a second one right next to it, too far to be reached or even truly felt. It feels more like a presence, or the thought of one. Not quite tangible but it is real nonetheless. He fees as if he only needs to reach out and his fingers might stroke Anduin’s cheek. Feelings start pouring out through the bond, surprise at first, dimmed by the distance, then happiness.

This isn’t the first time he has reached out. Anduin left four weeks ago. It feels like much longer. There hasn’t been a night Khadgar hasn’t missed his warmth and weight beside him, no matter that he has only been blessed with them for one night before Anduin’s departure. One night had been all that was needed for him to become addicted. He wants nothing more than for Anduin to be back already, for him to lie down next to him on the bed, to feel his broad hands across his skin, his breath against his cheek, his lips on his.

But Anduin is far, far away, and all Khadgar has is the spectre of his presence, only made possible by the bond that Khadgar created between the two of them, on a whim, that terrible night. During the day, when missing Anduin becomes all he can think of, Khadgar indulges, whispers the few words that mean that, for a moment, he can be reassured that Anduin is here, momentarily distant but that he is alive and well and will find his way back to him. Anduin isn’t so lucky, having never been attuned to the arcane. Khadgar can only hope that the ribbon, that he tied so carefully around his wrist, infusing it with his own essence, is enough to quell his loneliness. 

And if that isn’t enough, then surely the nightly ritual they have been following has to be. Except Khadgar hasn’t done this in a few days - too busy during the day and too tired at night to reach out, except for a few minutes and nothing ever coming out of it.

Tonight, however, Khadgar puts his tiredness aside and pushes a question through the bond, praying that it is understood. It is experimental magic but he believes that he would be aware if his presence was unwelcome or, perhaps, inappropriate, suddenly hovering Anduin’s mind. So far, he has never been refused. The answer, if one can call it that, a mix of a feeling and a certainty, comes near instantly. An overwhelming rush of heat that achieve what Khadgar alone has started. He is achingly hard now and he finally allows his hand to travel to his cock.

He strokes himself languidly, focusing on the bond as well. Only tatters of sensation can be felt through the connection but he imagines Anduin, sitting at his desk, or perhaps standing in his room, having been interrupted in what he had been doing, or maybe lying on a bed, mirroring Khadgar’s own position. He imagines him and can perfectly picture the expression on his face, his mouth opened slightly on quickened breaths, his eyes squeezing shut as he wraps his own fingers around his length. Their minds, joined as they are, feel, simultaneously, as if they are one and as if they are being split in two; a queer awareness of where one ends and the other starts; the phantom feeling of someone’s hand roaming their skin and the undeniable tangibility of their own flesh.

It is maddening, and it is wonderful, and it is exhausting. They wouldn’t trade it for anything, except the other’s actual presence besides them so their bodies might be joined in more than just mind.

Feeble feelings and phantom touches - that’s what their relationship has been reduced to. And still Khadgar knows that they are lucky to even have that.

As they settle into this new way of being, the feelings become clearer, firmer. Khadgar gasps as fingers trail up his belly, across his chest, stroke his neck. He arches his back as a palm, rougher then his own, joins his in squeezing his length. He imagines the sounds that might be begging to come out of Anduin’s throat now, low, raspy moans that he can’t risk being overheard, and he groans loudly. He doesn’t have to worry about anyone hearing - he’ll make noise for them both. He matches his pace with that of Anduin and it’s just a little too hurried. His dry palm drags against his flesh, oversensitive after three days of neglect.

He hisses as teeth dig into his palm. Obeying to his instincts, he brings his own palm up to his mouth and he licks where Anduin bites, soothing. There are sounds caught in between his ribs that he can’t free, however loud he is being. Anduin’s grip becomes somehow even tighter, rougher.

He won’t last - he doesn’t think Anduin is planning on that. But Khadgar has finally put aside the time to do this and he does intend to enjoy it. He removes his hand from his own cock and inhales sharply as he is left with only the phantom feeling of Anduin’s hand. He bites down onto his palm, suddenly, and pain, bright and flaring, cuts through the haze of pleasure that had overtaken the connection. Reluctantly, Anduin’s hand moves away from their hard lengths.

For a few seconds, Khadgar only breathes. With each exhale, he sends calming thoughts through the bond. The pressure in his guts doesn’t let out, however. He chuckles, alone in the darkness. Slowly, he drags his fingernails across his belly, raising goosebumps. Fingers stroke his cheek as if pressing kisses there and he smiles. As one of his hands reaches for his hair and pulls, the other spreads across his asscheek. Anduin’s hands settle on his hips, holding the two of them steady. Khadgar’s breath quickens as his fingers find his entrance and press in. It’s dry and uncomfortable but Anduin’s fingers are brushing soothing figures across his ribs and Khadgar sighs.

As he stretches himself, one of Anduin’s hand travels back to their cocks and starts stroking. It has nothing to do with the desperation of the earlier touch. Instead, his hand moves languidly up and down their shafts, a welcome distraction from the burn of the stretch. Khadgar archs his back so he can reach deeper inside himself. A hand wraps around his throat, a tight but not uncomfortable hold that makes him shudder strongly.

Eventually, Khadgar reaches for his bedside table, in which drawer he keeps a pot of slick, running dangerously low. He inserts his coated fingers back inside his hole and moans in pleasure. He can feel Anduin’s arousal through the bond and his strokes are growing firmer and faster.

Steadily, matching Anduin’s strokes, Khadgar starts thrusting his fingers in and out. The pressure builds slowly inside him, Anduin’s excitement and his own mixing and feeding off each other until it felt multiplied ten-fold. Khadgar grabs his cock and starts stroking along Anduin, loud sighs and louder moans falling from his lips. 

He needs more. He is almost ashamed that the combined touch from his and Anduin’s hands isn’t enough to satisfy him but they stop just short of finishing him. He pulls his fingers out of his hole, missing their pressure already but knowing something better is coming. He feels Anduin’s confusion stretching out towards him.

He scrambles to open the drawer again and searches blindly through its content. He finds the object, carefully wrapped in a cloth, and he quickly pulls it out. The glass is cold against his skin but he doesn’t care. The glass is shaped as a long and thick shaft. Khadgar had almost died of embarrassment purchasing it but considering the satisfaction it has provided him, it had been more than worth it. He generously coats it with slick. Settling himself on his knees, chest tipped forward with his face flush against the mattress, he reaches behind himself and, stretching his hole with his fingers, he slowly inserts the shaft inside. It is much thicker than his fingers and he breathes slowly out of his nose as his muscles work to accomodate the intrusion.

Realization, quickly followed by elation, wash over him, carried over by the magic. Finally the shaft is pushed deeply inside him and Khadgar relaxes. He pulls it out only a little before pushing it back inside. His arse finally gets used to the feeling and only pleasure radiates from his backside throughout his body. He wonders how this feels to Anduin - if perhaps he has sunk his own fingers deep inside himself, chasing the phantom feeling of the glass shaft - or if, instead, that feeling is tangible enough that he can lose himself to the bliss of it, his fingers stroking his cock to the rhythm of Khadgar’s thrusts.

Anduin’s hand completely surrounds Khadgar’s cock with its heat. He feels ready to scream and he grabs his pillow to bury his face into it. His arm aches from being bent at an unnatural angle but he only shifts to ease the discomfort and thrusts the shaft even more decidedly in and out his asshole. It goes in and out with an obscenely wet sound and Khadgar’s mind swims with arousal.

Suddenly, Anduin’s free hand presses against his nape and Khadgar lets himself be pressed into the mattress. It is overwhelming and soon Khadgar is spilling all over the covers, crying out. Only seconds later, he feels the wave of Anduin’s own orgasm and only when he feels it receding does he stop pushing the glass shaft in and out and pulls it out. He lets it fall onto the bed carelessly. He himself falls boneless, breath coming out quickly and loudly.

As he regains his bearings, he starts chuckling. A deep satiated feeling settles in him even as his ass shakes and his arm aches. The bond still surrounds him with warmth and he wants to bury himself in it. But as sleep gets its claws into him, dragging him down slowly, he feels his control over the arcane slipping. This spurs him into consciousness again and he strengthens the connection, pouring everything that he feels but couldn’t put words onto if he tried. He knows Anduin will receive it and, sure as clockwork, a similar avalanche of longing and despair and elation overwhelms him in return.

He doesn’t stop smiling as he shuffles towards the bucket of water to wash the glass shaft and clean himself up. After putting the shaft back in its cloth and in the drawer, Khadgar slips under the cover. He feels a second weight be pulled atop him as Anduin slips in his own bed, hundreds of miles away from him. He sighs contentedly and wraps the sheets tighter around himself, imagining they’re Anduin’s arms.

As sleep overtakes him, he swears he can feel Anduin’s lips pressing, warm and wet, against his forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](https://aegwynnmagna.tumblr.com)   



End file.
